


Battle Born

by sian1359



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Relationship(s), Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7960690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian1359/pseuds/sian1359
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes decides he needs to come in from the cold soon after the events that happened in DC. He can't go to Steve or Natalia, as both would have expectations of a man he cannot ever be again. So he turns to someone who wouldn't have any expectations: Clint Barton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle Born

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Winterhawk Big Bang Fill](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/226906) by Pariahsdream. 



> This takes place months after Captain America: Winter Soldier and disregards canon that came later, including Laura Barton's existence and most of what happened in Civil War. I did take elements of Age of Ultron and Civil War, along with some elements of the 616 comic-verse that made the story work better in my mind, though this is definitely my idea of the MCU Clint, not Fraction's Hawkeye.
> 
> I have been blessed with many wonderful betas over the years, Auburnnothenna has held my hand through many of them, and constantly makes me a better writer. If you see any screwups, that would be me; you can drop a note in comments and I'll fix it in post production if I agree ;)

If Bucky never had to follow someone's orders again it would be too soon, but just for a moment he mourned the loss of the lack of accountability he'd had throughout all those years when he'd simply been a tool. If a plan didn't work, that had been on his handlers, as had been the punishments. As the Winter Soldier, he'd had no initiative, no concerns over his actions, nor fears. (At least no fears beyond being put into cryo or put into the chair.) It wasn't that he wanted to be a mindless puppet again, of course, yet being in charge of his own planning, his own actions – all those damn choices – was terrifying. Exhausting, too. 

Such as this plan that had him standing across the street from the café. He knew it was a bad idea. Weeks of trying to come up with a better one, however, hadn't done anything more than waste his time and raise his fears of things that he had no control over happening. Now that his mind was his own again, he either had to reach out to Steve or disappear forever. There was a part of him that almost wished he could just disappear, but all his returning memories from before told him that Steve would _never_ give up trying to find him. Bucky might not ever be the man he'd been before, but he wasn't so far gone that he'd doom anyone to such misery, most especially not the little punk who'd been his brother in all but name.   

Yet all of the reasons his memories told him he could go to Steve were also the reasons why he _shouldn't_. Neither of them were the kids they'd once been or even the men they'd become. If he went to Steve before he figured out who he wanted to be now, when he'd fought for and won the right to a new life, he'd never become his own man. He'd be stuck in the role of a big brother, a sidekick or, Jesus wept, a victim.   

Never again. 

That kind of failure also lay in wait if he reached out to Talia instead. The beautiful, darling, _malen'kiy krasnyy pauk_ that he now remembered nearly as well as he remembered his life with Steve. The Black Widow and the Winter Soldier had been poison to each other once. They had been each other's greatest vulnerability and they'd been forced to pay the price for the closeness that had developed between them when he'd been tasked as his final trainer. Even if the memories of how she'd been punished hadn't managed to taint what Natalia had once felt for him, he'd nearly killed her himself just months ago. He couldn't imagine her not fearing or at least despising him. 

If, by some miracle, he was wrong about how she'd react to his reemergence, there was still all the shit he needed to work through. Too much of _that_ , he had no doubt, would trigger her own memories and the associated traumas from her time in the Red Room and, again, he wasn't so desperate or depraved to put her through that. 

No, what he needed was someone who knew yet didn't fear or hate the Winter Soldier. Someone who shared some history yet had no expectations of how Bucky should act or be now. Omitting anyone who'd ever sworn allegiance to Hydra, that left only one person Bucky would consider approaching. Hence, why he now stood outside Café Coffé.   

One of the things Bucky had understood, even as the Winter Soldier, was that a certain level of respect existed between peers despite any rivalry or jealousy. With enough chances or luck, _anyone_ could kill someone else. There were only a handful of assassins, however, who could kill _anyone_ else. The Winter Soldier had been one, although Bucky knew now that some of his success had come simply because he'd kept at the task until it got done, not because of his skills or training. (As the Soldier, he'd been too focused and encoded to quit and he'd had something close enough to Steve's super soldier serum in his body to keep himself alive even when he'd faced resistance or opposition.) Of the others, though, a few of them were enhanced in their own ways but there were three that Hydra had kept track of because they were just that good. 

Eight -- No. Johannesburg had been ten years ago, just after Trajkovski's death.   

The Soldier had been sent to Johannesburg to be available if needed by one of Hydra's many pawns, after he'd finished up in Macedonia. Zaran, a former mercenary, had been making a name for himself by supplying revolutionaries to neighboring tribes. It had turned out that Zaran had _kept_ an army at his side as well, to take on Hydra's regional head and claim her position. He'd thought that eliminating the Winter Soldier would serve best to announce his intentions and prove his worth. (In truth, it would have only gotten Zaran killed, for killing one of Hydra's most important assets.) The first part of the plan had been sound, other than Zaran's misjudgment of the Winter Soldier's value to Hydra, and it most likely would have ended with him dead, had SHIELD not been there on the trail of one of Zaran's lieutenants at the same time.   

Although Barton had to have recognized the Winter Soldier, he'd still come to the Soldier's aid, first firing from a sniper's position to give the Soldier some breathing room against twenty to one odds, then by coming down to the floor of the warehouse to fight back to back with the Soldier when twenty-five _more_ mercs had shown up. 

What had come afterward, Bucky chalked up to adrenalin and the wild exhilaration of surviving against so many. He had no idea why the Soldier had made no mention of Barton by name to his handlers other than respect. He couldn’t imagine the sex making enough of an impression on the Soldier, but the assistance, that might have. As to why Barton hadn't told SHIELD who he'd helped (Sitwell had been friends with Barton, yet would never have kept any knowledge of the Soldier and Hawkeye's indiscretion from HYDRA, not if it could have been used to as incentive or blackmail to turn Barton). Maybe Barton had kept quiet out of fear of repercussions for not bringing the Soldier in, or not letting the Solider die when he had the opportunity, but Bucky chose to see it as shared respect. As something he might be able to trust.   

Of course, it could also simply be that Barton had always had an unhealthy attraction to risk. The man was, after all, the Avengers' only non-powered human. Thor was a genuine? Lightning-tossing alien straight out of one of Stevie's wild pulps. Talia, Stevie, and Banner all had some version of the super soldier serum in their blood while Stark had his powered exo-suit and an AI assistant who interacted more humanly than its creator. Even Wilson, though not technically an Avenger (yet), had his wings, which gave him a hell of an advantage in battle by letting him fly and evade, as opposed to the guy who simply stood there and fired god-damned arrows. Sure, SHIELD training was good, but not for going up against monsters and enhanced, yet there Hawkeye stood. 

Who in their right mind did that? 

Bucky figured he had as good a chance of getting his head straight if he reached out to Barton as he had of messing himself up more. And 50%? That was a damn site better than 0%, which was what his chances would be going to Steve, Talia, or even Wilson (who'd never be able to keep Bucky making contact a secret from Steve). Whether Barton had kept his secret for years out of shame or guilt or just so he could take full credit for taking down Zaran and his men, that had still been the most consideration Bucky had been shown since his and Talia's relationship had been discovered. 

Barton also had Talia's trust as well as her gratitude and friendship, which was no small thing. 

Walking into a café to order coffee, however, _was_ a small thing, not the momentous effort and occasion that had had Bucky second-guessing himself.   

He forced himself to cross the street. 

"I'd like a large, plain coffee and a chance to speak to the manager," Bucky told the kid once he made it to the front of the line. The café was housed in a warehouse conversion. Below street level there was supposed to be a pretty good Korean restaurant that only opened in the evenings. No doubt both the café and the restaurant filled up with hipsters in the evenings, but for now it held mostly harried New Yorkers looking for their caffeine fix to get through their morning. 

"Is there a problem I can help you with, sir?" the kid asked while taking a quick look around to see if he could spot some trouble, no doubt. 

"No problem. Just something that needs the approval of whoever's in charge."   

If Bucky could be happy about any of the choices the Russians and then, later, Hydra had made regarding him, it had been fortunate that the people in charge had quickly realized that the Winter Soldier sometimes needed to be able to blend in and interact with people when he was let out of cryo sleep. He'd spent as much time learning new technology, trends, and social behaviors as he did infiltration or extraction plans. He knew how to use smart phones and the internet, how to drive modern vehicles and pilot aircraft, and who not only the last few United States presidents had been, but also who were the American public's current pop idols and favorite movie stars. He could order at Starbucks, shop at Kaufhaus des Westens, and sing karaoke, though he'd prefer to never do that again. So he was fine around strangers, wary of course, maybe even a little paranoid, but overall he was fine.   

Any nerves now could simply be chalked up to a valid concern over being turned down. Or from not getting turned down, here or later, and getting exactly what he wanted so he had to go through with this really stupid plan. 

"Oh. Okay. If you could just wait at one of the tables, I'll send him over," the kid replied as he handed over Bucky's cup. 

Three minutes or so later, a tall woman, Jamaican, Bucky first guess and then confirmed by her accent, said: "Jerome said you asked to see me?" 

Bucky had already risen from his seat at her approach. He held out his hand to shake hers, and then used it to gesture to the chair across from him when they let go. She raised a brow, but took the seat.   

"Thank you, Ma'am, for allowing me to interrupt you. I won’t take up much of your time," Bucky began, hoping he didn't sound as stupid in her ear as he did his own. "I recently learned that someone I once knew stops by for coffee every few days, once he's finished volunteering at the Sisters' place down the street. With your permission, I'd like to buy his next cup along with leaving him a note for someone to pass along the next time he comes in." 

"Sir, do you know how many people –" 

"His name is Clint," he interrupted before she could say no outright. 

She paused and blinked. "Yeah, okay. We don't get many Clints through our door. But what if there is more than one, and we give it to the wrong one?" 

"I'm just leaving him a phone number. If it's the wrong one, he won't recognize my initials and he won't call. Or if he does and I don't recognize his voice, we'll end the call with a laugh." Once upon a time, Bucky had been told he had a charming smile. He wasn't so sure about that then or now, but he tried for it in any case.   

She looked more skeptical than charmed, but she still wasn't just saying no. "You're not looking to make trouble for him? 

"Definitely not. What I figured is that I'd stop by each morning for the next two weeks or so, get my own cup and pay with a twenty to cover his cup too. The change left over from one purchase or two would just be a tip. If it doesn't work out, I'm out some money, but …" He let his words trail off and shrugged, leaving her to fill in whatever blanks made her happy. 

"And you're sure he'll be stopping by?" 

"If I was sure, I'd simply come in and wait for him directly. But I know he tries to spend a few hours at the runaway shelter when he's available, and he always stops for coffee afterward. I figured the Sisters have enough to keep track of to not want to add to their burden. Here, I'm just buying coffee for a customer and tipping you guys to hold onto an envelope for two weeks." 

What he didn't add was that if the Sisters were at all like the ones he'd grown up around, they wouldn't let him get away with some vague explanation and semi-anonymity. That he'd be happier facing a HYDRA interrogator than a nun.  

The manager looked reasonably convinced, but she still wasn't saying yes or no. 

"We spent some time together on the front lines. I'd like to connect with him again, but maybe he won't want the reminder."   

Bucky felt a little dishonest playing the vet card, even if he wasn’t' lying, but as he expected, it seemed to work. Her whole body softened, not just her expression. 

"Oh. Okay. I'm good with helping out with that," she said.   

Bucky gave her his own nod and a more genuine smile as he took the envelope from his jacket pocket. He also took out another twenty and handed them both over, even though he'd already paid for his own cup of today's coffee. He'd give Barton ten days to call the number of the burner phone he currently carried. While he hoped Barton would at least be curious enough to call the strange number, he was counting on Barton understanding the significance of the star he'd outlined in a red pen, and the WS initials in black ink that he'd placed inside the star. If he didn't get a call within that time frame (and didn't hear about any call out of the Avengers to deal with something that might affect Barton's schedule), he'd look into the Bishop girl a little closer, despite her father's tenuous connection to Bucky's most recent employers.   

He'd leave breaking into Barton's place and leaving a different note as a last resort. 

******** 

While Clint never begrudged the time he put in volunteering at the center run by the Sisters of the Promise, he was glad when Sister Maura Fiacre called the kids in from the garden for afternoon lessons, ending his own turn breaking the frozen ground with the spade. It wasn't that he minded the physical work, but certain extremities had gotten pretty damn cold, and he could hear a dirty chai latte from across the street calling his name. 

Woops. Make that Mother Superior Mayra de Porres calling his name. Clint finished putting on his jacket, but then headed over toward her office, stuffing his gloves back into the pockets. 

"You needed something, _manita_?" He was probably the only one who could get away with calling the Reverend Mother little sister, but then Clint had been helping out at the center for more than fifteen years, back when Mayra de Porres had simply been one of the Sisters overseeing the kids' physical fitness program, not the woman in charge of the whole thing. He'd never be so informal when anyone else was around, but he could see she was pleased that he still thought of her as his co-conspirator despite her advancement within the order over the years.   

"Only to give you this, _mi halcón_."   

Although she only came up to Clint's shoulder, her hugs rivalled Steve's in strength and Thor's in warmth. He squeezed her back and simply soaked in the peace and joy she radiated. He'd been so happy to hear of her promotion – did the Church call it a promotion? Was it an elevation? For having spent his first few years going to a Catholic school and then living in a Catholic-run orphanage, he should probably know the answer, but –   

"I thank God every day that you walked through our door and asked how could you help," she said into his chest. "You are a good man and a caring soul, Clinton Francis Barton." 

If SHIELD hadn't trained him out of blushing, he would have. Phil had helped him learn how to deal with people thanking him, but he still felt weird about receiving complements as a person instead of because of what he could do. "I try." 

She pulled back and looked up at him with an alarmingly raised eyebrow. "You try? Are you going to make me go Yoda on your ass, _Halcón?"_  

He frowned back down at her in return. "Are you allowed to say ass? I'm pretty sure nuns can't know asses," he scolded. 

Which only earned him laughter and both eyebrows going up. 

"Maybe not where you grew up, _chico_ , but I wasn't always a nun," she reminded him, finally letting go of her hug, but still linking one arm around his. "I've known bad asses like Montesinos, _badasses_ like the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, and a few good ones too. Your Captain America, he has a very fine ass indeed," she added with a nod and very broad smile. 

"I truly cannot be hearing this," Clint started protesting as he let her lead him toward the front door. 

He happened to agree about Steve's ass, but that wasn't something he was about to share. His little sister might be okay with him being gay, but her church and her god … Clint really didn't want to put her into a position of having to choose between her faith and her heart. 

She laughed again and twisted to reach up to pat his cheek. "Do not worry. You are still my favorite Avenger. Outside of Thor. And Natasha, of course." 

Teasing he could handle. Even if there was truth behind her teasing, Thor was pretty much everyone's favorite, while Natasha was Natasha. She would always be _Clint's_ favorite. 

"Will I have to warn you first, if I decide to ask him along next time?" he kidded her back. "Give you time to primp?" 

It had been easy enough to bring Natasha along with him in the past, as he also had brought Phil sometimes. Especially after the kind of missions that they'd successfully pulled off yet had still felt like losing, given the pain and misery they'd uncovered once they'd gone in. Even now, he figured Natasha would still pass unremarked, although her recent stint testifying before Congress had been televised on a lot more stations than just C-Span.   

Thor, however, attracted attention no matter where he traveled, no matter how he tried to disguise himself. So Clint's own anonymity might suffer once word of Thor's involvement with the center got found out. Still, there would be the trade-off in having more attention to the kids' plight, and more donations because an Avenger supported them. It wasn't even as if Clint cared so much about being identified as Hawkeye by the public; it wasn't like he was going on SHIELD missions anymore, given that SHIELD itself wasn't anymore. The few favors he'd done in the past couple of months for Fury or Maria had actually relied on the other guys knowing exactly who he was, with the Avenger thing being one more intimidation. 

Was it really just jealousy? Was he afraid that if he shared his _manita_ along with all of the other sisters and their charges, that somehow what he did here wasn't useful anymore? That it – _he_ – wouldn't be special anymore? Shit, if he really did think that, he better not just bring Thor around, but also Stark. His work here wasn't ever supposed to be about how good he made himself feel. It was supposed to be for the kids. 

"Somehow, I don't think you've just been contemplating how I might look wearing makeup, Clint."   

It took Clint a few seconds to understand the words he'd heard over beating himself up in his head. "You're right," he acknowledged, before leaning over to kiss her on the forehead.   

They'd reached the door. 

"But then, I don't have to. You're beautiful just the way you are." 

She gave him a good looking over, but then smiled at the compliment and patted his hand this time. "And you are a charmer," she responded, letting him avoid her offer of listening to what had bothered him. "My mamá warned me about charmers long before God did." 

He placed his hand over his heart as if she'd wounded him. They both laughed.   

"Bring your friends or don't, but I should like to see _you_ again, _Halcón_. Soon. And not just for your willing labor." 

He nodded, pretty much decided he'd at least mention the place to Thor. Thor loved being around kids in general, and had developed his own interest in interacting with orphans after learning that none of his teammates had had anything like a normal family and childhood. While Clint figured at least half of Thor's interest was really more about trying to understand Loki's pain from learning he'd more or less been adopted, and while Clint might still ache to put an arrow through Loki's eye, Clint wasn't about to disparage or chastise Thor for still loving his brother and hoping for a reconciliation one day. Clint wasn't that much of an asshole. 

Or that much of a hypocrite. 

"Go feed your coffee addiction, Clinton. And go in peace." 

Peace might be some time in coming, but the coffee would help. One way or another.   

He dashed across the street, glad to see there wasn't too long a line once he entered the café. The chill he'd been feeling after working for hours in the garden had mostly been done away by Mayra de Porres's hug and their talk, but he'd been thinking about that tea latte for a couple of hours and wasn't about to change his mind now. He still had his walk to his apartment, after all. 

"Oh, hey. It's you," the gal behind the counter said with excitement when he gave his name. 

"Are you sure?" he deflected automatically, old habits dying hard no matter how he'd just decided he didn't need to hold onto his anonymity as an Avenger. 

She blushed. "Wow. That probably sounded weird. And flirty, which would be highly inappropriate and a little gross – "   

He couldn't help raising his brow at the gross comment, about to defend his honor by claiming he got hit on by girls half his age all the time until the part of his brain that sounded like Natasha gave him a figurative hit to the back of his head over how _that_ sounded. 

"Not that you're not flirt worthy," she started to defend him herself off his look, her blush deepening. "But you are old enough to be my father and – " 

Maybe an older brother –   

"Sh – Crap, that's just as bad. Sorry. I – " 

"Can I just pay for my latte?" he tried to bail her out before it got any worse.   

"No, man. It's already paid for. That's what I'm trying to say." she said, pointing a blue fingernail at his name on the cup and smiling at him expectantly, like she'd explained everything. Or anything. 

She looked crestfallen for a second when he offered a confused, "Sorry?", but then brightened once more. 

"Right. You don't know about him, which was the whole point and makes it all that much more epic. And romantic." 

She suddenly widened her eyes and blushed again, as if she hadn't meant to say that last part. Which was fine, since Clint had heard all the words, yet had no idea what she was talking about. 

Coffee wasn't romantic, it was a requirement. Tea in this case, but the sentiment still worked. 

"Right," she repeated, off his expression. "A guy's been coming in for over a week, ordering the same flat white every day. He pays for it with a twenty and reminds us that the rest of the money is to cover Clint's coffee when he—you – comes by in the afternoon, plus the tip. And you're our only Clint. But I guess that means no more fifteen dollar tips." 

Clint was well practiced in keeping his expression open and pleasant around civilians. He'd thought he'd done okay with keeping his times at the center varied enough that no one would be able to predict a schedule of what day or time he'd arrive, nor how long he would stay. If they were willing to wait long enough, though, it wasn't like he didn't also always stop for coffee to fortify himself for the mile walk home. He supposed he should be happy they were giving the center itself the pass, though there were still too many people already seated in the café for anything to go down cleanly. If it was only passive surveillance, however … 

"How about I give you all of this twenty, and you can pretend I didn't come in if the guy asks tomorrow," he suggested. 

She started to reach for the bill, then paused. "But what about the note?" 

The hell? 

"The guy left a note?" Clint repeated. He supposed it could be some kind of formalized calling him out, but his profile with those kinds of people had been almost nonexistent since SHIELD's fall and, sure, Poindexter or, shit, Wade, could hold a grudge like nobody's business, but a note? 

"Well, yeah," the gal – Tracey according to her name tag – said. "How else was he going to get you his phone number without triggering your PSTD?" 

"So where did you serve?" she then asked as Clint repeated PSTD to himself. 

"My brother's at Incirlik right now," she continued, not giving Clint any time to answer. "He's on his second tour. Much happier there than he'd been at Bagram, although he was real disappointed when he ordered authentic Turkish coffee, having had ours first." 

"Suggest that he drinks it slower," Clint found himself telling her. "It's made for sipping, not gulping, and generally for after a meal, not before or with one. If that doesn't work, have him ask for a cup without the spice cardamom." 

Wow, look at him now. Phil had been the coffee connoisseur, while Clint had just been a caffeine junkie when they first started working together. 

"Cool, thanks. And speaking of coffee." She started to finally hand over his cup, but then stopped once more. "No, hey. Let me fix you another one. This one's probably gotten cold by now." 

Considering that Clint had just lost nearly five minutes to this bizarre conversation, she was probably right. He would have drunk it anyway, but – 

"And the note?" he reminded her nicely as to why he was still standing there. 

"Note. Right," she said with a laugh. "Give me just another sec." 

Clint was damn glad he'd been the only one waiting for a drink, although a couple had just come in. Out of habit he checked them out, the surreal quality of the situation only serving to heighten his paranoia. Tracey seemed genuine; he wasn't sure even Natasha could have pulled off so much stream of consciousness – Stark could and did frequently, though never out of artifice – but then some of the most dangerous people Clint had known had looked like students. 

Or accountants.   

Nothing happened, however, other than Tracey coming back to the counter and handing over a new cup and a slightly stained envelope. Clint stuffed the twenty he'd still held in his hand into the tip jar, and didn't bother correcting her when he got a 'thank you for your service' instead of a goodbye.   

He wasn't so far into trying to parse something about the note by the unrecognizable handwriting on the outside of the envelope, but the couple now behind him simply took their turn to order and move over to pay with true New Yorkers' indifference. Clint mimicked them and waited until he had walked a couple of blocks away, checking out any reflections he could see in the storefront windows as well as looking for wrongly placed shadows on the rooflines, before he ducked into an alleyway. He lifted himself up onto a low hanging fire escape so that he might perch a couple of levels up and watch, just to make sure he wasn't being followed. And also contemplate the whole situation while he waited. 

Sure, Clint had actually served, but that had been – Christ, twenty-six years ago. While his enlistment had been part of his SHIELD file, he'd been tapped as a specialist from the get-go after Fury had recruited him, so his file had only ever been open to Level Six operatives and above. What Natasha had dumped onto the internet when exposing Hydra's poisoning of SHIELD might have contained his service record, but no one who hadn't already known could have ever put it together, since Clint's time in the Marines had been spent under another name thanks to a really good faked ID and the fact that he'd been underage when he'd signed up. That name had never been linked to Clint Barton in any file other than the paper ones that had been held by his principal handlers over the years, and the two Directors of SHIELD he had worked under. 

Did Maria have those paper files now (meaning Stark), or had Fury managed to keep – or trash – them when the Triskelion went down? Clint supposed he'd better ask at some point. 

Then he had another thought. Barney's service record had been linked to Clint's SHIELD file, as his next of kin, when Barney had chosen enlistment in the Army over jail time for getting caught doing B&E's . Clint supposed someone could have mixed the two of them up, that it might be one of Barney's soldier buddies looking to make a connection. Even then, however, Clint hadn't seen Barney in nearly fifteen years, and once more, they hadn't parted on speaking terms, so even if they were just hoping for a lead on Barney, Clint had nothing to tell them. 

Going back to this being some former SHIELD agent, Clint had to think they'd gone to a hell of a lot of trouble, when all they would have needed to do was get in touch with Stark to reach Clint – or reach Maria. Obviously Clint hadn't been the only Agent caught flatfooted and in the wrong country when Steve and Natasha had literally blown SHIELD up, but anyone who might have had Clint way down on their list phone list was either dead or reemployed by one of the other alphabet agencies. Anyone who might have had him near the top was either dead or had already made contact. Except for Bobbi, who had probably burned her phone to take him off the list, and even then, he'd heard the _Iliad_ had remained in SHIELD hands before the US government had commandeered the aircraft carrier, so…   

He supposed this could all be some elaborate scheme of Natasha's, testing his skills and whatnot since their spycraft wasn't exactly on call with the Avengers. If that was the case, Clint figured he'd already failed, and deserved whatever punishment she'd concocted with the envelope, so he might as well just get it over with. It wasn't like this could get any worse. 

Well, fuck him sideways. He was wrong. The phone number was from the Winter Soldier. 

********* 

Nine days into his admittedly self-imposed deadline, Bucky started getting restless as well as tired of overpriced coffee. It wasn't that he begrudged an honest Joe making a profit, but the amount of sheer indulgence people took for granted these days was sometimes grating. Today's Americans would never have been able to handle the rationing he and Steve had undergone during the War. Or the Soviet's way of controlling the markets. 

The coffee was one thing, but the looks of pity or sympathy he'd started getting from not only the clerks, but the other regular patrons was also wearing. The guys were actually worse than the gals, as the gals simply offered him sad smiles with his coffee. The guys either over empathized, or started offering advice. He was seriously considering skipping the whole thing today, thinking he should maybe just head over to Barton's place and deal with the fallout of surprising a former SHIELD assassin, but before he stepped away from the door instead of pushing inside, the door opened from the inside and his hand (fortunately, his right hand), was grabbed. 

(She was also damn fortunate that he recognized her perfume and slotted the name JoAnna to go with it before he _hurt_ her.) 

"The envelope is gone, dude. Tracy left a note telling us your Clint came in late yesterday afternoon. Has he called you yet? Jimmy," she then called out to another clerk behind the counter before Bucky could come up with an answer, "put the Vet's flat white on my tab. Today's drink is on the house, soldier," she finished with, apparently back talking to him and waiting for him to say something. 

"Thanks," is what he offered, still trying to wrap his head around the first part of the damn plan actually working, not to mention JoAnna's verbal whiplash. "For the coffee and for all of you taking an interest instead of just brushing it aside," he managed. 

"Dude, we're all pulling for you. You have to promise that you'll both come in together next time. Give us the happy ending, okay?" 

Saying he had no plans to ever return to Café Coffé wouldn't go over well, so Bucky simply nodded and accepted his free coffee, then turned around and left before Jimmy or JoAnna figured out that he hadn't answered JoAnna's question about whether Clint had already called. He walked away briskly, not all that sure JoAnna might not come out through the front door again to chase him down for her answers. At the first trash receptacle he found, he started to toss the coffee, but stopped and took a drink of it instead. It was a fine thing to decry overindulgences by other people, as long as he didn't engage in them himself. Plus, his Ma had raised him better than to dismiss someone's gift. 

Barton hadn't called, but then Bucky hadn't expected him to do so right away. If nothing else, Barton had to think this was a set-up or a joke and he'd been SHIELD's far too long to rush into something so questionable. If Bucky had been the recipient instead of the instigator, he'd be doing a series of checks, up to and including watching the café to see who the morning regulars were for a few days – or until he recognized someone. It's why Bucky had kept to a basic schedule, getting his coffee each morning between 8 and 8:30, to give Barton that opportunity, even if the operative still inside him had twitched at being so predictable.   

The trick was what Barton would do once he got his confirmation?   

If Barton was smart (and he had to at least be clever not only to have stayed alive so long in the game, but also to have stayed in Talia's orbit), Barton would realize that Bucky had avoided confronting him outright; that he had given him the phone number for a reason. Any trace on the number would just lead to a burner phone, one of several that Bucky had picked up after he'd fled Hydra and D.C. to lay low in the one of the Russian neighborhoods in Toronto.   

If Barton was feeling the need for a little payback for Bucky having killed his boss and having nearly killed Captain America and the Black Widow, then Bucky was screwed, as he'd never see the arrow coming. Bucky supposed he could leave New York for good (he knew plenty of places to hide not just within Canada, those in plain sight within the major metropolitan areas as well as out in the country; leaving America without being caught wasn't really a problem). If Barton didn't kill him within the next half an hour, he'd probably make a clean get-away, but laying low for another few months would keep him in his current limbo, with all the same reasons Barton was his best bet at making things work, and Steve and Talia his worst still in play. A clean death might almost be preferable. 

The worst thing Barton could do was turn the number over to Steve, and why Bucky didn't think of that when he was making this plan – 

His phone started ringing. 

Tompkins Park was across the street, as good a place as any to take the call. Bucky jogged over and headed toward an empty bench. He answered the sixth ring. 

"Hello?" 

He heard an audible breath, then, _"Soldát?"_  

Bucky stifled his own sigh of relief, but then, to his horror, babbled, "Bucky. I'm Bucky now." 

_"Well that's good to hear. Surprising though. Getting your note, I mean. Thanks for the coffee."_

That Barton sounded just as flustered helped Bucky reign in his own nerves.   

" _Pozhaluysta._ I thought giving you the option to make the contact was a better idea than just showing up on your doorstep." 

 _"Sure. I mean, yeah. But I'm still stumped over why you reached out to_ me _. You do know Steve is following up a lead on you right now, over in – "_

"Greece. Yeah. I thought Steve might appreciate the beaches. He's lost most of his tan." That earned him a nice, rich laugh from Barton. It was good to know Barton wasn't so far gone on Steve that he wouldn't have a laugh at Steve's expense. 

"Why didn't you kill me? In Johannesburg? Why didn't you at least let me die? You never even told SHIELD I'd been there." 

 _"How in the hell did you – Right. Jas – Sitwell. He was one of your guys."_ Barton sounded pretty bitter about that.   

Bucky was surprised by the sudden guilt he felt about squelching Barton's good mood so thoroughly. 

"If it makes you feel better, I think Sitwell wasn't Hydra's any more than he was SHIELD's," he tried to explain instead of pushing for his answers. "I think he continuously weighed the missions of both sides and chose to encourage whichever one he thought might fix the problem. The appeal of Hydra's way to someone like him would have been the directness and disregard of rules of law or sovereignties, not the ruthlessness or hope for power. Of course, once he committed to Hydra, he couldn't ignore the dogma or the ambitions of the rest of them, not and stay alive." 

Certainly, Sitwell had seen the consequences of disobeying or betrayal. And the lengths Hydra took to motivate people who might not want to work for the organization. Drugs, brainwashing, threats; _nothing_ was off limits to Hydra when insuring compliance. 

"I do know he had genuine friends there at SHIELD; that you were one of them," he offered. 

 _"That’s … That is actually good to hear,"_ Barton responded, his tone now more saddened than angry. _"It's hard to imagine he'd been able to play us all for so long. That he could play Fury – or Natasha like that."_  

Was Barton ignoring his own sense of betrayal out of embarrassment or because he didn't value his own skills? No, the better question was why Bucky even cared. Was it just because the Soldier wouldn't and his current moral compass was mostly doing the opposite, or was his empathy coming back along with his memories? 

"You do know she's not quite so perfect as you all make her out to be," Bucky had to point out as a previously forgotten memory of her in Leningrad suddenly played out in his head. "She has a soft spot for Paskha as well as for tow-headed boys who offer to show her the best places to find it. We almost blew our op when the _otrod'ye_ managed to take the packet from her pocket without either of us cottoning on," he recounted aloud. "If the papers had been anything other than faked pictures and a couple of love letters, no doubt the kid would have sold them before we tracked him down and took them back." 

 _"I shall chose to believe that you simply gave him a scolding and maybe a swat, and I don't want to be told if I am right or wrong,"_ Barton replied, sounded amused again. _I knew about the Paskha. She was a real pain when we weren't in some Christian country around Easter. I never understood why she didn't make it herself or pay someone else to do so whenever she wanted it, instead of waiting. It's not like she's religious."_  

She might have been, had she not been scooped up by the Red Room, Bucky thought. Ivan had once said her parents had been from the rural countryside near Stalingrad. 

"Did you know she actually snores, but only when she's really relaxed?" Which was sort of a trick question, or more a question to trick Barton into giving something away. Bucky didn't think he was asking out of jealousy, since most of his memories of being with Talia were more like a picture show he'd watched, not something he'd lived. Knowing whether she and Barton had ever fucked would simply aid him in better understand their relationship. 

 _"Yup. I knew that one too,"_ Barton replied with only a hint of smugness, showing he was, indeed, a smart man. _"I didn't know about the weakness for tow-headed kids, though maybe that explains why she said yes to me when I offered her sanctuary with SHIELD. I wasn't a boy, but I was very tow-headed then. Does anyone even use tow-headed anymore, Grandpa?"_  

"Does anyone even use bows and arrows anymore, except boys playing make believe?" Bucky quickly shot back. 

 _"Only if they are very skilled,"_ Barton defended himself. _"And, okay, maybe if a little simple,"_ he then conceded.   

"I doubt there is any simple about you, Barton." 

_"Hey, if we're going to be telling tales about Tasha, you should call me Clint."_

A sudden beeping, from Barton's end, cut into his words. 

"It sounds like you should recharge your battery. _Clint._ " Bucky said with a laugh at the synchronicity. "Will you call me again?" he asked abruptly as he thought through the full meaning of the beep. "Once you have recharged?" He knew he sounded weak, but the chance to talk to someone who wasn't exactly a stranger nor a threat … Bucky hadn't realized how much that would mean to him.   

Barton answered, "Sure" without any hesitation. And without any offer that they could simply meet up instead of use a phone, which brought up Bucky's estimation of him even more.   

 _"Same time tomorrow?"_ Barton suggested.

"Da." 

********** 

The last thing Clint ever expected was to develop a sense of friendship with a guy over a phone; much less a guy who was also the world's leading assassin, a former member of Hydra, and not so incidentally Steve's former friend. This last week had felt a little like he was cheating on Steve, but Clint thought he got what Bucky was doing here. He'd been a fucking mess himself after only five days with Loki, so he could only imagine how Bucky felt after being under someone else's control for _seventy years_.   

Clint's recovery had been slow in coming because the person he would have gone to had gotten killed, which would have been bad enough had he not also felt guilty for giving Loki the target. Tasha, at least, knew she wasn't capable of stepping into Phil's role, while Clint had had enough presence of mind to not cling to her anyway. She'd been just as traumatized over what Loki had done, given her own past and conditioning. Fury had been the one who'd helped the most, by assigning Clint the responsibilities of notifying the families of all SHIELD people who'd died in the attack and subsequent battle, yet had also accompanied Clint all over the world while he did it. That much time together, talking about Phil but also about things like politics, favorite cities, sports, and weird sci-fi shit, had helped focus Clint back into a proper sense of self. It had also given Clint an opportunity to wallow in his guilt – not the Fury had put up with it for long – and to have a proper chance to grieve.   

The fact that Fury had turned over the day to day operations of SHIELD to Maria after a fucking alien invasion, that he had put his people first before the rest of the world, helped quite a bit too. As had that fact that Fury's priorities had also communicated a clear-cut fuck you to the World Security Council, who'd been willing to nuke Manhattan long before the battle had looked to be lost. 

Bucky choosing not to go to ground and hide from whatever remnants of Hydra that were still around, no doubt trying to salvage what they could and regroup after the failure of Project Insight, was Bucky's own fuck you. Shooting the shit and exchanging embarrassing stories about Tasha and Steve with Clint on a near daily basis over the phone seemed to be helping Bucky level off and deal with his part in Hydra's bid for world control. 

The Bucky Barnes that was emerging out of the fires of Stevie's Bucky, of Sergeant Barnes, and from the Winter Soldier was someone Clint was growing quite fond of. Maybe a little too much, but since when was that something new? Given his history of imprinting on just about anyone who was kind to him, Clint had plenty of experience in keeping a lid on a burgeoning attraction. So he wasn't too worried about spooking Bucky and undoing any good he might have done him with so far. 

Which was why Clint felt no guilt in pulling out his phone and hitting Bucky's speed dial immediately after getting his front door closed and locked behind him. Technically, it was Bucky's turn to make the next call since Clint had initiated the last one earlier in the day; the next call that, technically should have been made tomorrow. 

_"What's wrong?"_

If Clint got a little turned on by Bucky's growl, which he'd learned over the last couple of days was how he showed concern, that was Clint's own damn business. 

"Nothing's wrong," he answered back quickly. "Does your stupid burner phone accept video?" 

_"Sorry, I didn't foresee the need to spend a few thousands of dollars on features I never expected to need when I went shopping for a handful of them when I was on the run."_

Bucky's voice turned flat delivering that little non apology. It had taken Clint longer to recognize that tone was Bucky's form of sarcasm. Phil had done much the same, but Clint had steadfastly been trying very, very hard not to make any comparisons between the two men, which had gotten in his way of figuring this out sooner. 

"Well, shit. Then I guess you'll just have to come over to watch this," Clint responded without thinking. Ah, mouth, no. He'd been doing so well in waiting for Bucky to be the one who first suggested they take the next step and meet face to face. 

Bucky didn't seem to think he was pushing, however, since all he said was: 

_"Watch what? I've already checked out a few of the urls you keep recommending. I've seen enough cute animal videos already."_

"Well, obviously you haven't watched any of the Maru ones yet, or you wouldn't be saying that," Clint defended. He'd never seen a cat so into boxes, but then the owner had added Hanna and that cat, too –   

"But that's not what I've got, Buckster," Clint got himself back on track. "Don't you remember what I said this morning about what I'd be doing this afternoon?" 

Shit! There went his mouth again. Remember was a word he tried not use casually in conversation with a guy who didn't remember a lot of his life. 

_"You mentioned Stark had roped Steve and Thor into showing up at some charity thing involving clothes. You didn't mention you were going along to watch. Besides, I know Steve's body. There ain't anything funny on it, and if Thor's does have – I don't need to see video of Thor's dick, Barton!"_

"Actually you probably do, assuming your willingness to go down on one isn't just situational," Clint responded again without thinking about his words first. Aw, fuck it. "Although, I guess if you weren't all that impressed by Steve's dick, Thor's won't make that much of an impression either." 

This wouldn't be the first time Bucky shut down a conversation, although there never seemed to be any residual hard feelings during the next call. 

_"Some of us aren't size queens."_

Clint grinned at himself. Bucky's tone was wonderfully dry, with no embarrassment, no anger, no offense added. He wasn't sure he could classify it as Bucky flirting, but then flirting hadn't been Clint's intent despite how his words might be interpreted. At least he hadn't started out flirting –   

"Do I want to know what you've been researching that you know that term? I seem to recall being told not to recommend any porn sites to you." 

_"Enough about dicks, Barton! Spill!"_

Clint laughed first, but Bucky, thankfully, proved he still had an eight year old boy inside of him too, when he joined in and they spent nearly a minute not being able to talk. 

"They weren't the ones modeling the clothes," Clint finally managed to start his explanation. "They were the 'celebrity' judges, being asked to rank several designers' work. Like Project Runway, if you've ever seen that – " 

_"Wow, you a really are gay, aren't you, Clint."_

"Never said I wasn't, but actually I'm bi. I guess you are to, since you know enough about what I was talking about to make that comment, Comrade Smarty Boots," Clint pointed out. "Or should that be Comrade Kinky Boots? Have you seen that show yet? It'll probably be showing at the Hirschfeld for years given it won last year's Tony for Best Musical." 

_"Are you really this easily distracted, Barton? Or is your great video all wet?"_

Clint was really glad this was still over the phone. Blushing in front of the Winter Soldier would be pretty embarrassing. He also replayed a bunch of their conversation back in his head and realized he'd been subconsciously pushing things – testing the waters, so to speak – and that maybe he wasn't quite as smooth or keeping his interest as buttoned up as he'd thought. Still, it would be worse if he stopped now and, therefore, called attention to it.   

"Fine. Far be it from me to try and help educate you on things you might have missed. Steve keeps a notebook for that. Writes down people's suggestions, though Tony sometimes gives him stupid stuff just to be a dick. But as I was saying," Clint powered on before Bucky could call him on going back to dicks, "the two guys who know the least about current fashion were asked to judge a bunch of designers. It was going about as well as you expected, given how even people who are born and raised on current trends and pop culture don't understand haute couture." 

Just thinking about some of the clothes nearly set Clint to giggling again.   

"Then they started showing the men's fashions. Corsets were popular, as were sheers or basically just a bunch of draped strings pretending to be a shirt or pants. Steve was actually pretty incredible, actually, as he managed to come up with something polite to say over all of them. Thor even bought one of the corset ensembles, although I think he really more liked the coat tails and hat that were also part of it. But then out came a designer with clothes that either just draped but swung freely, or had deliberate holes cut to expose the wearer's genitalia." 

The designer was supposedly known for not just being avant garde, but also for liking to shock people, not that Tony had bothered to tell anyone. On purpose, Clint was sure   

"Steve was mortified. Hell, I was a little uncomfortable, and I lived for five years with a circus. Tasha, on the other hand, said it was about time, given how much female flesh had been exposed earlier in the show. Then Thor started critiquing the work, judging the outfits on whether they would be better to eat in, fight in, or fuck in. It was absolutely amazing."   

_"Sounds like Thor had the right idea. Clothes should be practical as well as fashionable. And it sounds like you're either a voyeur or an exhibitionist, Barton. And here I thought it had been me, well the Soldier, for all those years. I guess it was more doing it in the alleyway that got you off in Johannesburg."_

"Hell, no, it was you." And now it was Clint's turn to be mortified as once more his mouth spoke without his permission. "Um, could you maybe forget I said that?" he asked, eyes closing in shame though it wasn't like Bucky was there in front of Clint to hide from seeing his reaction. 

There was a pause, although by the background noise he could still hear, Clint knew Bucky hadn't hung up. 

 _"I think I'd rather talk about it, not ignore it,"_ Bucky said at last. _"But not by phone. Is your offer for me to come over still on the table? I'll bring some pizza for dinner."_

"Let me run out and get some beer first. Lots of beer," Clint countered.   

_"Hydra records said you don't touch alcohol."_

Instead of thinking about how Hydra knew that, and if they'd also known why – or about what else Hydra records might have said about him and whether he was comfortable with Bucky having some of that knowledge or not," Clint simply said: 

"Right now, I'm willing to start." 

************ 

Despite the buildup, they didn't start their evening talking about that aspect of Johannesburg – or even dicks at all. Clint met him at the door of his walkup with: 

"Should I be worried that you knew how to get here without me telling you where I lived?" 

Bucky quirked a grin. "Are you really surprised?" 

Clint shook his head and invited him in. "Just put the pizza on the coffee table. Did you want foreign or domestic beer?" he asked, heading off toward the kitchen. 

"What countries are you referring to?" Bucky was curious, sure, but also messing with him. It's not like Bucky had spent a lot of time in the States during his time with Hydra or the Soviets before, so the distinction held little meaning unless Clint had taken that into account.   

(He supposed if he had to pick one as his usual, he'd have to say Holsten, since it was produced both in Russia and Germany.) 

"I don't suppose they still make Rheingold, do they?" he called out after setting down the pizza box. Instead of taking a seat on the well-worn, but serviceable and clean couch, Bucky started wandering around the front room, looking over the CDs and DVDs to get an idea of Clint's interests. There seemed to be a small shrine to the Howling Commandos also inset on one of the shelves that Bucky did not want to look at, though the picture in front of the rest of the things wasn't someone Bucky recognized. It was also much too modern to have been someone he might not yet have remembered.   

Clint came back in and cleared his throat. He held two beers in one hand: a Sam Adams according to the label, as well as a Heineken, and a bottle of water in his other. "I have no idea," he admitted, in answer to Bucky's spoken question. "I just asked the guy at the store what he recommended." He then handed over both beers and cracked the water bottle open for himself. 

"Shit, napkins," he said next, after taking a drink, disappearing back into the kitchen. 

This time when he came back out, he nodded his head toward the shrine. "That was Phil. Coulson's." 

"Yours and Talia's handler." There had been a thick file on Coulson, almost as thick as Fury's, but Bucky didn't remember ever needing to see a photograph. As much as Hydra had wanted SHIELD destroyed, some people were off limits, as getting to them would have uncovered Hydra's infiltration within their ranks before Hydra was ready to move into the open. 

"He was a big fan of Cap. Of all the Commandos, really," Clint explained as he came up to stand next to Bucky. "Tasha and I both picked out of few of his things as mementos after he died. I guess Fury has the rest or he donated them to the Smithsonian or something. Outside of Stark, Phil had the best collection of Captain America memorabilia in the world." 

Bucky didn't ask if they'd been close, that much was obvious even without the way Clint's voice and manner softened when saying Coulson's name. He also didn't ask how or when Coulson had died, since he already knew; Sitwell hadn't hidden his grief over it, even when the Hydra Council had held his own debriefs to determine whether having Earth being visited by alleged gods and other aliens might aid or hinder Hydra's long-term goals. 

"Phil was over the moon when Steve's body was found and they learned he was still alive despite being very frozen. Or he'd lived _because_ he'd been frozen, maybe?" Clint suggested, then shrugged and gestured back toward the couch. "Tasha says Phil made a fool of himself when they finally met. I think he would have been even more affected to learn about you, though. Stark – the one you knew – had always thought Steve could have survived the plunge into the ocean and spent half his life searching. But by all accounts, you were truly dead, so to have found out you survived too …" 

"Even if I was the _Zimnij Soldát_?" Bucky had to ask, unable to keep the bitterness out as he finally took a seat.   

Clint turned his soft smile on Bucky. Bucky started to bristle, not wanting Clint's sympathy, but that wasn't really what Clint offered along with a handful of napkins. 

"We managed fine with Natasha," he reminded Bucky. "You've also managed the hard part in breaking free yourself. Which is damn impressive, let me tell you. She had to damn near give me a skull fracture to get Loki out of my head." 

Maybe it would have been impressive if he'd managed to break his conditioning 70, 60, or even 50 years ago. Or if Bucky was _sure_ no one could get to the triggers still in his head – 

"How did you deal with it? With your actions under Loki." Bucky clarified, hoping that Clint would be okay with shifting the subject between the two of them. 

"Badly," Clint admitted. He plopped down next to Bucky and didn't seem put off by Bucky's question. They'd skirted around the subject of mind control and indoctrination before tonight, though usually only in the vaguest of terms and without any regard of the emotional fallout they (and Talia) had been left with. 

"It helped that Fury gave me things to do," Clint was saying as he pulled out a couple of slices, offering the first to Bucky. "It helped more to know Loki had been taken off-world and imprisoned for what he'd done. Oh, not the shit he did to me, I'm sure," he dismissed with a wave of dripping cheese, "but getting locked up for a few hundred years to contemplate trying to take over and rule another world?" 

Bucky might have been disturbed by Clint's sudden grin, if he wasn't feeling the same sense of pleasure from the terms of the punishment on Clint's behalf. Then Clint turned his attention to the slice he set down instead of taking a bite from it. 

"He wasn't supposed to be freed within my lifetime, so it didn't matter enough to me how they justified it," he said more softly. "I was pretty pissed to learn he'd been let out when some new alien with plans for domination attacked Asgard – and I won't believe the bastard is dead until I get to chop up his body into little tiny pieces but, I guess, as long as he stays away…" Clint met Bucky's eyes, his own a little too wide and his cheeks turning pink. 

"Sorry, that was probably a lot more than you were really asking," he then apologized, still flushed but also seeming to ask Bucky not to make a big deal of the fears he obviously still held. 

Damn, but Bucky could understand that. 

"You're concerned whether Hydra still has a way of controlling you?" his question followed, nailing the target dead on, but then the file Hydra had on him didn't just commend his aim with weapons. Hawkeye also had an unconventional, but undisputable accurate way of seeing things others often missed. 

"I know that they do," Bucky admitted softly. He took a deep breath. "There is a set of specific words," he confessed, the first time he'd ever acknowledged it aloud. "Everyone that I know of who knew them is dead, but …" he shrugged and spread his hands. "Words can be written down. Or passed down from someone to another. I won't ever not worry. And how do I even know there is only one set of triggers? I did serve two completely different masters over the years; the Russians before they sold me to Hydra." 

Clint looked uneasy, but not scared even so. "Do you still want to kill Captain America? Is that why you came to me instead of him?" he asked, not accusingly, but curious. 

Bucky shook his head. "That compulsion ended when he fell from the Helicarrier. I ran, afterward. Never gave them a chance to reinsert it or any others." 

"Ran to Canada."   

He sounded amused now, but before Bucky could ask what was so bad about Canada, Clint continued. 

"You didn't run until after you fished Steve out of the water, so you're probably right about _that_ compulsion being gone. You also haven't killed any kids or puppies or, really, anyone since then, right? In the past six months?" 

"I killed two Hydra agents – " 

Remarkably, Clint waived that admission away. "Obviously you were efficient and clandestine with it; you're not in jail and there's been no grand public outcry. Callous, I know," he then added off of Bucky's look. "I'm sure their mothers probably loved them. But they were Hydra, Buck. Guys who are ready and often happy to kill anyone who get in their way. I'm sure it was justified." This last was all said around a mouthful of the cheese pizza. 

(Bucky had had no idea what kind of pizza the other man might like, and had picked the simplest one, figuring if Clint didn't like cheese and sauce, he wouldn't have agreed to the offer of pizza in the first place.) 

Clint's general nonchalance was undoubtedly calculated, but Bucky appreciated not being made to feel like a monster nonetheless.   

Maybe he was supposed to think he wasn't the only monster in the room. 

"Did you enjoy killing them?" Clint threw out suddenly, just as Bucky was about to take his own first bite. 

"What? No!" Bucky responded automatically, appalled that Clint could even think that of him. 

"Do you remember ever enjoying killing people?" Clint pressed. "I'm not talking about taking pride in your work, or being glad that you did well and you weren't going to be punished. Did you ever relish someone dying by your hand or get off on it?" he asked in a dispassionate tone to match his expression. 

Bucky sat back, suddenly getting what Clint was going after. He used taking a bite of pizza to give himself a moment to actually consider what was being asked instead of just reacting in further outrage.   

"When I was him, the Soldier, I don't think I felt much emotion," he said slowly and then took a swallow of his beer. "Some pride and relief, like you suggested, but not even that, most times. I was a tool. Trained to kill and someone else's to use, a weapon whose only goal or purpose was to get the job done." He drank more of the beer, almost half of it before setting the bottle down on the coffee table. 

Clint's expression stayed neutral with his next flatly stated question. "Did you enjoy the killing you did during the War?" 

Bucky took a deep breath and let it out. "I took satisfaction in it," he could say with no shame. "I was happy to enlist and fine killing when it was protecting someone else." 

"Sounds like that part of you is screwed in straight, then," Clint said, his face softening. "What's the rest of it?" he asked, turning away from staring at Bucky and shifting his attention back to his slice of pizza. "Guilt? Anger? Fear?" 

Bucky wanted to be upset over Clint's dismissiveness, but he knew Clint wasn't making light of his problems, that Clint was simply trying to deal with him rationally and without judgment. As if this wasn't tearing them both up inside. 

"Sure," Bucky agreed, his own voice coming out a little sharp, regardless. "All of that." 

It didn't appear that Clint took offense. "So let's start by picking one of those feelings and dissecting it. What are you angry about?" 

Bucky hesitated. What he felt wasn't that simple. 

Clint reached over, placing the hand not holding his pizza intentionally on Bucky's prosthetic while he set the pizza back on his napkin. "Hey, it's okay. There sure as hell isn't a wrong answer, Buck. What are you angry about?" 

"Everything, dammit! I lost everything. My arm – " With that Bucky had to upend Clint's touch, resenting that things felt nearly the same as when he used his real hand, like it was some kind of goddamn gift! 

" – my friends, my memories. They took away all my morality!" Bucky almost knocked over his beer this time as he moved the fucking thing attached to what remained of his left shoulder. He almost wanted to, wanted to make someone else's life a mess although spilled beer in no way equaled spilled blood. 

"If the Russians could find me, why couldn't the Americans?" Why couldn't Steve? But Bucky would die before he said that. "Why wasn't I strong enough to fight back?" He asked instead. 

"I'll bite," Clint answered although it, like all of the other questions had been rhetorical." Why weren't you?" 

"What?" 

"Why didn't you fight back?" 

"I … they …A lot more than my arm had gotten busted. I guess the serum kept me alive, but I didn't even know my own name when I first awoke after the fall."   

Even now, with all that had come back to him, Bucky could remember only flashes of those first days. Pain and heat but also ice. Voices talking to him and to each other. Hands touching him, some soothing, some bringing more pain.   

"It sounds like you were doing good just to stay alive. No one would blame you for not being able to fight –" 

"I blame me," Bucky proclaimed.   

"Do you blame Steve for not being able to catch you? For not finding you later?" 

Goddamn marksman. "Yes, but – " 

"I assure you, he blames himself too." 

Well that was wrong. Just as Bucky blaming him was wrong. He knew that. Clint should know that too. "But it wasn't his fault. I shouldn't blame him. Or anyone." 

Clint looked unimpressed, like he didn't believe Bucky's declaration. "Anyone but yourself, you mean."   

Bucky scowled at being pushed into it. "Fine. And the Russians … Department X. You want me to blame them and Hydra; to stop blaming myself." 

Clint shrugged. "The Russians are the ones who capitalized on your fall and then turned you over to Hydra, so it seems fair they should bear the brunt of your anger. I mean, would you blame Peggy Carter for not being able to fight back if it had happened to her instead? Or if it had happened to Dugan? To Gabe Jones? Would you think less of him if Steve had been the one who'd fallen and been taken and turned – " 

"Steve never would have – " 

Clint spoke over Bucky's growl, his voice relentless. "What if it had happened to a stranger? Hydra was already embedded with Hitler when you fell, just as Department X was already in play. All those little girls caught in the Red Room. I guess you must think Natasha is weak." 

Natalia _was not_ weak. She had been a child and an exceptional one to even survive the Red Room. Just as anyone weaker than Bucky would have died from what Department X did to make him the Winter Soldier. No one had ever escaped them until Talia did and she had done so using what she had learned from the Winter Soldier. That was Clint's point. Bucky couldn't deny it, but he still didn't like it. 

"Fuck you, Barton." 

"Okay." 

"No, I mean it. You're a shit counselor." 

The bastard actually laughed.   

"You're the one who came to me instead of a professional. You get what you pay for. You want rainbows and kittens, I'll need more than pizza." 

"Ha! I bet you can be had with nothing but a smile." 

That at least earned Bucky a smile, which was pretty nice and maybe Clint wasn't the only one who might be easy between them. 

"No bet," Clint agreed, although his smile turned wistful. "But tonight's probably not a good idea." 

Feeling like he'd gone a couple of rounds with Steve all over again, Bucky had to nod, although he was definitely warming to the idea of being together with Clint again and actually caring beyond just the physical pleasure of getting off.   

"So are you like Sam? You took classes or something?" he asked, returning his attention to his slice though he wasn't anxious to eat more. It was strange; as the Soldier, he'd never cared about what he ate or whether he felt like doing so. Food had simply been fuel and he'd eaten when he needed to, regardless of whether he'd just killed or hurt someone. Now, however, when he could enjoy it, he'd worked himself into feeling too queasy to do so just from stupid emotions. 

"Just a lot of bad shit in my own past and SHIELD-mandated therapists to prove I wasn't going to go trigger happy a few times myself," Clint answered with a laugh as he shook his head. "I found out dealing with emotions sucks, but the clarity afterward, once I figured out what I'd been really feeling and why … It's not a cure-all, but I figure there's a reason why the cathartic act has been around since Aristotle." 

"Aristotle seems a little fancy for a carny." Not that Bucky was making fun of Clint's background. He'd gone to work after graduating 9th grade, then into the Army as soon as America entered the war. He'd learned the basics, but that had been next to nothing compared to what he'd needed to learn under Hydra. 

"Maybe they didn't let you read on your missions, but sometimes that's all you've got during the travel and wait part," Clint offered. "Aristotle wasn't the weirdest book that got left behind in plane seats or safe houses. I'd have to say that was _Life of Pee: The Story of How Urine Got Everywhere_." 

"How was it?" Bucky remember being in awe of the library at Tompkins' park when he was a kid, that anyone could own so many books. It was probably pretty small by today's standards, probably wasn't even in the park anymore. 

Clint grinned. "It flowed," he punned before going back to his pizza. 

Groaning appropriately and finally eating more of his slice of pizza, Bucky tried to come up with the strangest book he'd read as he tried another bite and managed it. The Soviets had encouraged him to read, including American books, but undoubtedly all of the ones he'd been allowed had been carefully chosen to augment his conditioning. As far as Pierce and Hydra, however, they hadn't cared if he'd gotten bored, had never looked for him to have any ambitions to be more than what they made of him –   

His mouthful turned to ash. 

"Pierce really is dead, right?" he asked after choking the food down. "Someone you know and trust, Steve or Talia, did the deed or saw the body?" How in the fuck had he so easily believed the newspapers and television reporting he'd followed during the aftermath of the DC events? He'd never even thought to get verification while he'd been in Canada despite knowing how goddamn easy it was to fake such things – 

"Dead as a doornail," Clint said, his tone confident despite what looked like worry passing through his eyes. "Cross my heart," he added. "Wait, do you know that one?" but he waived away any answer and continued.   

"Nick put two in his heart and insisted on being the one who pushed his body into the furnace for cremation after the President signed off on it. No one comes back from ash."   

Bucky believed him. His sense of relief was overwhelming.   

"He and I talked about it just a few weeks ago. About why Pierce and some of the other Hydra elite didn't seem to have used Zola's Infinity Formula or whatever he called his brand of Super Soldier Serum. I suggested that they were too cowardly, afraid they'd die or experience the kind of side effects that plagued the Red Skull, but Nick thought it was much simpler than that. That Pierce, at least, was too egotistical to give up his spotlight and have to work behind the scenes, since the non-aging thing would have been a dead give-away. Do you know if either of us is right?" 

"Nick as in Fury? _Fury_ is alive?" 

The Soldier had failed?! 

"Um, no? Yes? Does it matter?" Clint blushed and looked extremely uncomfortable.   

That, at least, Bucky could deconstruct. 

"I'm not going to kill him again," he said dryly. "If that's what you're worried about. Nor am I going to kill _you_ now that I've gotten you to give up a pretty damn big secret." 

Clint's expression ran from embarrassment to relief and then apologetic in turn. "Yay?" he offered. 

Bucky nodded, not sure what he might have said in Clint's place either, though he knew he wouldn't have said yay. "It's just nice to know I have one less death to my name," he explained. "Before you say it, I do understand that I wasn't actually _responsible_ for any of those deaths. But I still remember pulling the trigger. Every single damn time."   

Clint, telegraphing his move, scooted closer. Bucky had no idea whether he wanted to protest or lean into him. It had been so long since someone had touched him for any reason other than violence or control. 

Clint didn't kiss him, however. He simply put his hand around Bucky's neck and held on, until Bucky was the one who folded into the offered embrace. 

"Fifty-seven SHIELD agents died on the Helicarrier I attacked for Loki," Clint told his the back of his head. "A hundred and thirteen didn't escape the collapse of the facility when he first appeared and I led him out onto our world instead of helping with the evacuation. Six civilian guards and law enforcement officials, along with a few mercs who didn't like the idea of working for us, and a scientist who didn't survive having his fucking eye stolen from him came in between those two events. Believe me, Bucky, I get it." 

********* 

Clint's life had always been either aimless or structured, and he knew which way worked best for him. After each of his big moments, what had followed had been without focus; these last few months after the end of SHIELD as bad as all the other deaths or betrayals. Working with Bucky – which helped him continue to work out his own issues at the same time – gave him purpose again, as well as a new friend. Even the pattern he'd forced himself into: helping out at the center; training; dropping by the Tower; checking in with Nick, felt more useful, felt like more than just going through the motions. Natasha noticed something had changed, of course. She'd ask when she'd get to meet the new person he was seeing, but had been contented with Clint's vague promise of soon and didn't press, though she did claim Wednesdays and Sundays for the two of them to spar and catch either lunch or dinner afterward.   

She, like him, was still navigating a future without SHIELD, and caught up in developing her own new routines. Clint had little doubt she'd eventually cave and take up Stark's offer to become a SI consultant. She didn't do idle well, and after so many years filled with field work and violence, she was simply wired for it. Clint expected he'd end up doing the same somewhere down the line, for most of the same reasons. The Avengers gig, while fulfilling, was truly part-time. 

That left him plenty of time to be available for Bucky. Now that they'd moved beyond phone calls, their daily check-in sometimes stretched into every other day, or even three, but part of the reason Bucky had come to him in the first place was to learn who Bucky Barnes could be, without all the expectations from those who'd known him before. Clint chose to interpret that helping Bucky understand his options included introducing him to some of the cool things he'd missed out on, like _Looney Tunes_ and _Animaniacs_ cartoons, the Royal Palms Shuffleboard Club, skateboarding, the satisfaction that was Waffle House, though they had to go to Pennsylvania for that – which had led to a few of the other joys and horrors that comprised a road trip – and what parts of Manhattan seemed made for parkour. 

It was a lot like dating, just without the sex. Clint didn't think he was alone in carefully watching the size of the elephant that was growing between them – the flirting wasn't all one sided – but as with most things involving Bucky, Clint wasn't about to take the initiative and try for further intimacy. 

If nothing else, Clint didn't want to be just the rebound guy after Bucky's horrible breakup with the most abusive boyfriend ever that had been Hydra. 

As in any kind of evolving relationship, things didn't always work. Humor was subjective even between people who'd grown up with the same relative cultural experiences. Trying to find common ground in music preferences seemed one step away from physical violence. Bucky still tended to defer too many of his choices, and Clint kept encountering the ghost of Phil. But they'd both been exposed to the world's variety of cuisines – and had both lived through times of going without – which meant that picking a restaurant by random in the Yellow Pages category lists always worked out, even if one of them didn't like what they'd ended up getting. Clint had already learned various movies and shows that relied on too many modern references from when the team tried to expose Steve and Thor to some of the favorites, so twice weekly movie/binge television usually went well too. 

Even their talks, sometimes just about stupid things and sometimes about missions or feelings or victimization, generally didn't end in shouting, tears, or anger. Sure, all that shit kept coming up, but they also managed to get past the disturbance before calling it quits for the day. Turned out that Bobbi and Phil had been right about the virtues of not going to bed with an argument or emotional upheaval still open between them, but with Clint and Phil, or Clint and Bobbi, he'd always been too close to the situation to see – and deal – with it with any sense of clarity. This was not to say that Clint wasn't starting to feel just as close to Bucky but, again, maybe his exes had been right in saying that sex fucked up his ability to take a step back instead of taking everything personally.   

Clint still hoped that the sex would eventually come into play. He still thought the benefits and pleasures of such intimacy outweighed the potential for heartache and heartbreak. 

********* 

Watching a live broadcast of the Avengers in action somewhere in the Australian Outback, and realizing that he'd begun worrying more about Clint than Talia or Steve (but then, they were super soldiers), told Bucky that he'd gotten a little too comfortable and in too deep. Still, he could admit that he was mostly glad with the encounter being south of the equator, where early November was still the end of spring before heading into the heat of the summer; Clint had been bitching way too much about the cold snap that had started here at home in mid-October, not to mention the first snow fall they'd received a week ago.   

The fact that they were trying to contain some scientist-mutated, giant kangaroos was definitely better than if it had been damn koalas, since those suckers were as vicious as they were cute.   

Come to think of it, so were most of Australia's fauna, he seemed to remember from some long ago Hydra briefing, including the platypus. Someone he'd worked with then had lost the use of his hand during the mission after fucking around with one of those and getting poisoned from its spur. 

Watching Steve get kicked by one of them like something out of one of the cartoons Barton had been sharing with him about the stuttering cat had even been funny, once the camera had shown Steve shake off the hit and get right back into trying to round them up. But again, due to some obscure bit of trivia that sometimes seemed easier to recall than whether he'd ever had any pets as a child, Bucky also remembered that even getting kicked by a normal size kangaroo could crack a bone, so he started to worry all over again. 

(Enough that, when Clint finally made it back after nearly thirty hours, Bucky had greeted him with a fierce kiss instead of a hello since he'd camped out on Clint's couch once the encounter had finished. He then nearly slugged Clint himself when Clint had asked if the kiss was just another expression of surprise at Clint's survival.) 

********* 

Clint woke up to find himself alone in his bed. If not for the indent of where a body had lain next to his in the memory foam, he might have thought he'd yet again had a sex dream about Bucky, but he was also sore in all the right places and while the bed was a mess, it wasn't _that_ kind of mess. He couldn't say he was really surprised. He'd be waiting for Bucky to bolt pretty much from the beginning, having gone so far as to write out what he was going to say to Steve on that first day after the first phone call. Then, he figured there'd been a fifty-fifty chance Bucky had thrown his burner phone away the second they'd hung up. 

The possibility had come up a couple more times afterward, the next being after the night neither of them had had more than a few bites of pizza; the last being only six days ago, when Bucky had confessed he'd killed Stark's parents. Somehow, the fact that Clint had known already, having first been told by Natasha and then also by Steve, who'd been so damn scared to tell Tony, had made things even more uncomfortable for Bucky. Bucky had actually walked out on him then, but had allowed Clint to follow and bring him back in. That night Clint had admitted that he'd loved Phil, something Natasha had known, but no one else, which had caused him all sorts of problems at the memorial with showing any form of grief. 

He and Bucky had talked all through that night. There'd been some manly tears, a lot of self-hatred, and then a trip just before dawn down to Coney Island, there they broke into the Amusement Park and both talked about growing up. The secrets they'd shared had been one thing, but they had also gotten caught, with Clint having to use his name as an Avenger to get them out of being arrested that he'd figured might have caused Bucky to rethink what they were doing. It had certainly caused Clint to panic over what was going to happen when Steve and the others found out he'd been keeping Bucky a secret for over three months. Not that Clint had come up with any defense or strategy, other than to accept whatever shit was going to come down on him and not bother with any excuses. 

Realizing that he was cold, despite the blanket he'd burrowed under, Clint abandoned his maudlin thoughts and rolled out of bed, keeping the blanket wrapped around his body while he grabbed some clean clothes and then took care of his morning business. It took him longer than it should to realize he was cold because there was a noticeable draft now that he started moving from the bedroom. That could only mean an open or broken window. 

It was the window off his living area and open, thankfully, not broken. Opened by his bedmate who'd not run but simply gotten up so as to not disturb Clint's sleep. Bucky was out on the fire escape landing being used as a cat toy by the kitten his neighbor's kids had rescued during Halloween, looking far more relaxed and outright happy than Clint had seen before. The kitten – named Snow White because it was black as coal – was batting at the fall of hair along Bucky's cheek that Clint had found so useful last night. 

"You going to stand there and gawp all day, or are you going to start breakfast?" Bucky asked, _finally_ unsaid but heavily implied in his tone. He hadn't turned to acknowledge Clint's arrival, or twitched as if he'd even heard Clint, all of his focus and attention seemingly on Snow. 

It was a neat trick but one Clint used too, so he wasn't impressed.   

Dammit! Yes he was. Clint knew how quietly he moved, a habit he rarely broke even when alone at home. 

"If you wanted something to eat, why didn't you make it yourself? You've been over often enough to know where I keep everything by now." Not that Clint kept much food in his apartment. Between missions, Avengers business and that simple fact that he was a horrible cook, he normally picked up already prepared food he just needed to reheat if he wasn't going out or calling for take-out. 

"Because I'm the guest," Bucky replied, said in the same guileless tone Steve used when he was trolling Tony. Bucky climbed back through the window, Snow held protectively against his chest. "And I did most of the work last night," he added, his expression turning smug. 

"Oh, no!" Clint protested against the comment as he knew telling Bucky to leave the kitten outside wouldn't fly. "We are not going to get into a dick-measuring contest – or one over how they get used. You have an unfair advantage." 

"And no refractory period." 

Like Clint needed reminding. Or had minded.   

Bucky pressed noses with Snow and whispered something Clint had little doubt was disparaging, but he let it slide to just enjoy the visual. 

If he didn't know it would spook Bucky and undo everything Snow seemed to have managed, Clint would be taking out his phone as snapping a picture. "You do realize that if I was a woman, my ovaries would be exploding right now?" he asked instead. 

Bucky looked over, expression turning vaguely horrified and mostly confused. 

"That means I'd be wanting to have your babies, babe," Clint explained. "From the cuteness," he added with a broad gesture toward Bucky and Snow. "One picture posted on-line and I could destroy your street cred – your reputation." Explaining idioms to Steve and Thor had become second nature to most of them; at this point Clint didn't even have to think about doing it for Bucky too. 

"The world's most bad-ass assassin, my left nut." 

That earned him a scowl that he waived away. "Give Snow back to the kids and I'll make us French toast." he bargained and started toward the kitchen. Coffee first, and then he'd see if he actually had the makings for French toast. 

"Simone's taken the kids to her mother's for a couple of days. I'd said you'd take care of the cat." 

Clint stuck his head back through the doorway, only to find Bucky had followed him, still carrying Snow. He knew he should say something about a cat in the kitchen, but it had survived through worse, and Clint always cleaned as he cooked anyway. He might not be good at it, but he wasn't completely worthless. 

"Simone give us any food or a litter box for her?" he asked as he directed Bucky one of the mismatched chairs pulled up to the wobbly card table he used when he didn't eat on his couch. 

"She gave me a copy of the key to her place." Bucky sounded –and looked – bemused at that when Clint looked over. Like he couldn't understand how anyone would trust him with cat or key. 

"I wasn't sure if we should bring stuff over, or take her back home… " he trailed off, now looking a little overwhelmed, as if he just realized the responsibilities he'd volunteered to handle. 

"We'll bring over what we'll need after breakfast," Clint stated as he started cracking eggs, pretty sure that if he called attention to Bucky's confusion it would only make things worse.   

Bucky had come a long way from the skittish, hunted man he'd been when this all started, but he still had trouble believing he wasn't going to turn on someone and do something unforgivable. Since that was something Clint totally understood, along with how other people's reassurances or platitudes didn't really help, he mostly ignored it when Bucky fell into reflections or recriminations, instead acting as if everything was normal. It had worked for him, for Natasha – hell, it even worked with Steve most of the time, when Steve started getting lost in memories of what he'd left behind, even if it might not be the kind of care a profession would recommend. Clint never ignored a flashback or full on distress, but those instances, like the nightmares, had been decreasing to the point they were the exceptions instead of the pattern. 

"So is getting out of cooking the reason you've never invited me over?" Clint asked as he set the first two dipped slices of bread in the pan. "I get that you grew up during a time where any food was good food, and that during your time after, your handlers probably didn't indulge any gourmand experiences, but even Natasha won't put up with my cooking for more than a meal or two. I'll admit, I've been disappointed. Steve's touted your cooking over some of Tony's five-star chefs." 

"Stevie was thrilled any time we had something more than bread and potatoes. If he's giving Stark a hard time, it's because Steve's a punk at heart and trying to buy his friendship is the worst way to go about it. I'm no chef, but I can cook – obviously a damn sight better than you since I don't ignore what's frying in the pan," Bucky exclaimed as he jackknifed out of the chair. 

Clint found himself shoved aide, and Snow shoved into his hands as Bucky took away his spatula. It wasn't that Clint had been trying to burn breakfast on purpose, but he could admit he wasn't unhappy with the result. Until Bucky plopped down the blackened pieces in front of him, like he expected Clint to eat them. 

It was really only the crusts that had gotten burnt, and Clint hadn't planned to eat those anyway. He'd brought out an old bottle of syrup – syrup didn't really have a use by date that mean anything – and a jar of raspberry jam when he'd first started, because Monte Christos were just French toast with added ham and cheese. He opted for the jam to start. 

"So, is there another reason you haven't invited me to your place?" Clint asked mildly as he poured some of his glass of milk onto a saucer for Snow in hopes that if she had her own food, she'd stop trying for his. Easier to eat without having to hold onto the kitten, too, although he had plenty of practice doing so with one hand, given how often the bad guys liked to break his fingers first when a mission went bad. 

"Are you seriously offended?" Bucky asked as he brought over another round of French toast, this time keeping two thirds for himself. 

He sounded incredulous, which hadn't been what Clint had been going for at all. He was curious, of course, about where Bucky currently lived, but he wasn't _offended_. He'd just kind of thought most of their secrets had been shared by now – 

"I'm living on the streets, _pridurok_." 

"Bullshit," Clint protested, almost choking on his bite. He pointed his fork at himself. " _I_ lived on the streets before SHIELD. You, however, have multiple changes of clothes that you're not wearing one on top of the other; you and they aren't dirty; and you don't _smell_ anything like the streets. Not even like you just clean up in a public restroom." 

The blush that overtook Bucky's face was completely unexpected. "Buck – " he started, not wanting the other man to feel judged or even embarrassed. 

"I… I pick up a sporting girl every couple of days," Bucky explained, his face still red. "We go to a motel that has a good shower. She's gets a couple hours off, I get a chance to clean up; sometimes we'll even go out to get a meal. I know it's not right, but we don't ever have sex –" 

"No, hey, it's fine," Clint stopped him. "I've made friends with more than one working girl myself; no one better to get intel from in some cases and in some places. Sporting girls? That's what prostitutes used to be called?" 

Bucky nodded. "One of the nicer names. Factory work was the real slavery. Shit jobs for shit wages, and a lot of the dolls had to put up with boss creeps anyway. The prostitutes I knew back then, not that I knew more than one or two, had all made their own choices and the madams cared about their girls. I stay away from the drug addicts and, like I said, sex isn't ever on the table, so you don't have to worry that I've picked up something. I'm sorry I didn't tell you this before _we_ had sex."   

"I trust you, Buck. I doubt you could get an STD anyway, but that's what the condoms are for. Really, it's fine." 

Bucky seemed to believe him this time. At least his shoulders relaxed a little, and he'd lost any expression of shame or guilt. "I keep some clothes and stuff in a couple of abandoned buildings. Manhattan has a lot of them, not just in the neighborhoods you'd expect, or where the homeless and addicts have already staked out." 

"Yeah, there is still a lot of damaged and vacant real estate left over from Loki and the Chitauri invasion," Clint agreed. "Some New Yorkers got tired of living at ground zero for every nut job who wants to rule the world despite Tony's more than generous donations to a recovery fund. As for the rest, bureaucracy moves slow, and city services are still overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of what needs to be fixed when it comes to permits and neighborhood reclamations. Plus, a portion of the buildings are tied up in litigation, which has stalled big time now that SHIELD and the World Security Council aren't around to take the heat. Some folks want to sue HYDRA for its involvement in SHIELD, but it's not like they formed a corporation or otherwise exist as a legal entity. The courts don't know what to do." 

The smile that crossed Bucky's face was a little scary and a whole lot sexy. "Actually, there are one or two companies that are all HYDRA, not just infiltrated. It might take some work to prove it, but I can give you names as long as you are only thinking of setting a legal team after them. It can't be the Avengers going after them, not unless you wanted to be brought up on charges yourselves."   

"I'll pass any info onto Hill. She used to handle those kind of missions for SHIELD before Fury made her his deputy. She won't ask more than once how I got the intel, at least not once she sees it's legit." Clint frowned as he realized how off topic they'd gotten. Or, rather his whole point in bringing up where Bucky was living. 

"So, you don't have to rent motel space by the hour to clean up. If you really want to keep helping the women out, okay, but what I'm really trying to say is you can move in here if you'd like, for however long you need to. I imagine you still have a few weapons you're leaving behind when you're out in public too," he added when Bucky looked like he was going to object without even thinking it through. "If nothing else, you can store them here, but I'd feel better in general, about not having to worry about whether the building you picked to squat in next time doesn't collapse around you by having you here. And if you think living with me is too much, too soon, I can always hit Tony up for one of his suites in the Tower. Thor lives there full time when he's on Earth and not with Jane, and I think Bruce has pretty much caved in to Tony's nagging, so it's not like it would be weird for me to ask."   

"I'm not kicking you out of your own place. If I stay here – If – " he stressed when Clint broke out in a grin, "I can share." 

******** 

For about a minute, Bucky wondered if Clint had arranged to be called away to act as back-up for Natalia to give Bucky the opportunity to move his stuff into Clint's apartment without having to share the location of Bucky's bolt holes, and so he wouldn't have to worry about Clint's reaction to the limited number of possessions he brought over. Or that ninety percent of what he did bring were weapons or weapons-related. Opening the weapons locker Clint gave him access to had Bucky quickly concluding the number wouldn't pose a problem, however. For a man known to pretty much only use a bow, Clint had a surprising and varied collection of rifles, handguns, and knives stored behind a false wall, as well as an assortment of exotic weapons such as that harpoon, an antique kukri, the chu ko nu and, Bucky was quite impressed to find, a carved jade fukiya with darts in pristine condition. 

Bucky had to believe that Natasha didn't know about him though, not just that Clint hadn't told her, but that she hadn't ferreted out his identity despite Clint having admitted to her that he'd met someone and was pursuing a relationship. Given the closeness of her and Clint's own relationship, Bucky had found little evidence that she visited him here very often, much less stayed over, and Clint had never seemed worried that they might be discovered by her just showing up. Then again, Natasha was a child of the Red Room, which had honed and emphasized strict adherence to the tenants of communism, where everything was shared and no one could own anything; having her own place that she would have decorated and acquired things to her own taste might still feel like something of a novelty or luxury that Talia preferred, along with respecting Clint's ownership of his place. 

Just as Bucky finished convincing himself that moving in with Clint wasn't going to give the game away, someone pounded their fist against the door three times. Bucky froze for a second in sheer disbelief, then looked to see how much evidence he'd left that would show someone else present beside Clint. Nothing too incriminating; the extra dishes in the sink might indicate more than one person, but could also simply reflect Clint being too busy or lazy to clean up after himself after every meal. He then laughed at himself for panicking and wasting his time; sure the three distinctive knocks were a law enforcement staple around the world, but Clint hadn't done anything to get arrested, nor was the door being kicked in – 

No, just the door knob being rattled, followed by the sound of a key being fitted into the lock. 

The panic came back. There were a few people Bucky could think that Clint might have given a key, and none of them were people Bucky wanted to meet. He started for the window leading to the fire escape but realized it was futile. He'd never get through it in time. 

"I'm coming in. Don't you fucking shoot me, Barton!" 

Male, forceful, and someone who obviously knew Clint well enough to know that surprising him could end up getting him shot. But it wasn't Steve, Tony or Sam, nor someone with law enforcement then, not unless it was someone who was also a friend. Clint hadn't mentioned anyone like that however, and Bucky liked to think Clint would have warned him of the likelihood of someone coming by while Clint was gone. Most likely the landlord then; inconvenient and potentially embarrassing, but if Bucky played it like a morning-after guy instead of a temporary roommate... 

Instead of going for a weapon, he grabbed up the nearest thing that had long sleeves so he could cover up his arm. That it was one of Clint's hoodies should help sell the date staying for breakfast idea, as would Bucky's bare feet and threadbare sweats. If Clint's landlord knew Clint well enough to give warning, he should also know that Clint's kitchen was a disaster and would believe Clint had just gone out to get some food – 

Not the landlord, not unless Nick Fury had a twin. That wasn't such a wild idea, though, considering Bucky had killed Fury. 

The eye patch was gone, replaced by dark glasses, but the abortive move toward a weapon that wasn't there told Bucky this was indeed Nick Fury. 

"You survived. Not many who can say that." 

Fury's lips twitched. "You going to try again?" 

Bucky made sure to hold his hands out from his body. "You here to take me in?" he countered, unable to stop his training, automatically calculating not just the different ways he could escape from the room, but also how many things he had on hand to take Fury down without needing to go for any actual weapon. It had only been a few months; even if Fury had been wearing some damn impressive body armor that had deflected his kill shots, between the crash, the bullets and the surgery Pierce had said Fury hadn't survived, Fury couldn't be back to one hundred percent. Not that Bucky couldn't take him even if he was. 

"Barton didn't give you up," Fury answered instead, something Bucky hadn't even considered until Fury brought it up. 

"I had some paperwork for him that I'd intended to drop off Monday night. Saw the two of you going into the building together." 

Monday night he and Clint had gone out to catch a movie, some stupid spy blockbuster that they'd barely been able to get through in silence. They'd spent the walk back to the apartment making fun of pretty much everything in it. 

"He didn't look like he was under duress or was being coerced. In fact, he looked the happiest I've seen him since Loki." 

Bucky nodded, unsure of how he should respond. Fury seemed to be giving him credit for that, or was at least accepting. Not that Fury's expression gave anything away, but he also wasn't moving in either a threatening manner, or as if he felt anything but a prudent caution while confronting the Winter Soldier. 

"I was just about to make breakfast," he offered at last. "You want some?" 

"Can you cook better than Barton?" 

"Isn't that a given?" 

Fury barked out a laugh, nodded and broke the tableau by gesturing for Bucky to lead. Bucky knew the seeming ease in which Fury followed him into the kitchen was pure artifice, knew too, that Fury knew that Bucky could see through him. Sometimes the appearance of trust could be enough, however, as long as they both knew that's what it was. 

"So, Barton is… still asleep?" Fury finally asked when Bucky didn't fill in the obvious pause. 

"He's off on a mission with Natalia," Bucky answered, surprised by Fury's question; he'd assumed Fury had sent Talia on whatever mission she'd needed Clint as back-up on. That he had purposely waited for Clint to leave to orchestrate this confrontation. 

Fury raised a brow high enough to be seen above his glasses. "I didn't send her," he confirmed, sounding as surprised as Bucky. Or maybe he was more bothered by not knowing what was going on; the inability to see Fury's eye made him tough to read. 

(Bucky had finally decided the mask his handlers had given him had been to keep anyone from discovering his identity as well as for intimidation, but maybe causing more direct confusion had been another factor?) 

"Any idea what it's about? Avenger business?"   

The question was asked casually, but was as calculated as all of Fury's other responses, leaving Bucky uncertain again. Was he fishing to catch Clint having told Bucky something secret, or was he out of the loop and that's why he was unhappy? 

"He didn't say," Bucky said truthfully. "I don't think he knew, but I do know it didn't matter since it was Natalia asking." 

Fury took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "They'd follow each other into Hell," he agreed, not putting the glasses back. 

Bucky knew this move was as intentional as the rest, but he didn't think Fury was testing him; what was a marled eye to a guy with a metal arm? Yet if it wasn't a test, Fury had willingly opened himself up to someone who'd now be able to read his reactions and lies with much less effort. Unless Fury was just that good – 

"She's always maintained her own plans and agenda," Fury then added, sounding like he approved, even now after Pierce and Hydra betraying everything Fury had believed in.   

Bucky could only shake his head. He'd certainly had enough training, experience, and paranoia to do well at spycraft, but it wasn't something he cared for in the least. In some ways, killing – even assassination – was more honest. At least the act was, even if the motivations were not. 

"Just like you had yours, having put plans in place for something like Hydra happening," Bucky muttered, _not_ praising Fury although he had to admit, if only to himself, Fury was better at the game than Pierce had been.

Fury's people might be scattered, but Bucky knew first-hand that Clint and Talia still followed Fury's bidding; that Hill still reported information to him from her position within Stark's domain, according to Clint. No doubt others did too, keeping Fury appraised of things the CIA, Interpol, and just about every other spy agency around the world knew. SHIELD had had an international mandate, after all.

While Hydra had retreated to lick its near fatal wounds, their mantra wasn't just words. Bucky might not know who would be stepping into Pierce's shoes, but he knew someone would. Whitehall or Von Strucker – or one of the crazies like Malik who thought Hydra's plan was some divine prophesy given to the faithful by an alien centuries back.

A little more caught up in his musings than was likely prudent while sitting across from Master Spy, Nick Fury, Bucky almost missed the glimmer of something that crossed Fury's face. He used the excuse of needing to get a pan out for the egg scramble he'd been putting together to again go over what had been said.

What had been unsaid.

He might not have recognized Fury's voice or known Fury considered Clint as something more than just a talented asset to have gotten himself a key, but he did know what fear looked like on Fury's face. That glimmer might not have been on the same scale as when Bucky had blown up Fury's car, but Fury definitely was hiding something he didn't want Clint finding out –

"You son of a bitch," is what he went with, not figuring he could actually spook Fury enough to give something up, but just seeing how Fury played it off might help him narrow ideas down. 

"I assure you, Barnes, Alexander Pierce is dead."

Okay, a look of sympathy was definitely the last thing Bucky expected to see when he looked over his shoulder toward Fury.

"You don't have to worry about him getting to you anymore," Fury continued, unprompted. "Or worry about the chair since it was destroyed too, just like Pierce's body."

Since the intelligence  _was_  unsolicited, the last part might be a lie, but maybe Fury had enough scruples left to realize wiping someone's memories was never a good idea, even for the best of intentions. Fury certainly had the evidence of the chair's ultimate failure of purpose standing right in front of him.

"You also don't have to worry about various governments coming after you for any crimes you may have committed while under Hydra's control," Fury told him, smiling smugly now. "Pierce liked to keep detailed accounts and I do have the world's best hacker on speed dial, so the evidence shows you had no choice."

Obviously he was supposed to be happy or relieved to hear that, and a part of him was, but that also sure implied that Stark would have learned that Bucky had killed his parents – No. Clint had said Stark already knew. That he had told Stark because Steve hadn't been able to, yet had known Stark needed to know.

"There are going to be people – governments who won't care if the charges have been dropped," Bucky felt he should point out, if only to remind Fury that not everyone cared that Bucky had been coerced, only that Bucky had done the act. "Not if they can get their pound of flesh."

"Yes, but if they come after you on American soil, they're breaking the law," came Fury's response, though the smugness disappeared. "Son, President Ellis and The Hague have officially pardoned you. Granted, that won't stop someone from trying to kill you, but you won't be taken to be put on some mother-fucking trial."

"The Hague?" Bucky split the scramble onto two plates and brought them over. He then turned to the refrigerator and pulled out milk and a bottle of water, set them down, then went back for glasses.

Fury went for the milk, same as Bucky.

"Technically, it's the International Criminal Court set up in The Hague. One hundred twenty-four states signed a multilateral treaty in 2002 granting the ICC the jurisdiction to prosecute an individual for war crimes, genocide, and the catch-all of crimes against humanity. International tribunals were first used after your war, to prosecute Nazi war criminals for their atrocities. The ICC basically falls under the United Nations Security Council and their recommendations on who gets brought to trial. Thanks again to Pierce's meticulousness about various other infiltrations into governments and international board rooms, the court is going to be busy for the next few years, but yours won't be one of the cases." With that, Fury tossed a packet of papers toward Bucky's side of the table.

Bucky set down his fork and pulled the packet toward his plate. Glancing through the pages, he saw a letterhead not just from President Ellis, but also Britain's Prime Minister, and Germany's Chancellor, though anything from Russia was missing. (Not that Bucky was surprised.)  Also included was the ICC's pardon and several statements from agencies such as the FBI, Interpol, and the Federal Intelligence Service acknowledging that any outstanding warrants against James Buchanan Barnes aka the Winter Soldier had been dropped. Feeling overwhelmed and about to embarrass himself, he came across the slip of paper that had obviously started the ball rolling on all of it. Stevie had composed the gist of it, while undoubtedly Stark or someone on his legal team, had filled in whatever gaps Steve might have left, seeing as both Steve and Stark had signed it.

Signed it three days after Bucky had put Steve into the water instead of into the ground. And had pulled him back out of it.

"He's been optimistic, from day one, that we'd get you back," Fury commented when Bucky had to set the papers aside. "Any reason why he doesn't know you are?"

Bucky cleared his throat before he answered, though he knew his tone was still thick with too much emotion. "Too many to count, but that's changing," he admitted for the first time, even to himself. "Knowing I won't be making him complicit in my crimes any longer removes a few of them."

Fury nodded, like that was enough. "I came by for all of that," he gestured to the papers with his fork, "but also to give Barton his own papers. I'll get them duplicated in your name. Technically, you'll be on the DIA's payroll, and consultants under my aegis, Natasha too, if she wants."

The Defense Intelligence Agency made sense for Fury, being the closest thing to SHIELD that wasn't the CIA; an American organization that still had an international playing field. Bucky figured the decision for Fury not to go work for the CIA had been mutual, although he wouldn't be surprised to hear Ellis or a successor appointing Fury as head of the CIA one day should SHIELD never be allowed to operate again.

"You'll have weapons permits, both open and conceal carry," Fury continued, between bites, "along with a Federal badge. I do not want to hear about any of the three of you taking advantage of your legal status and doing something stupid. Do you drive?"

Bucky blinked. "Yes?" He knew his answer had come out as a question instead of an affirmation, but the question had come completely out of the blue, and Bucky was still trying to process not just no longer being wanted for murder and assassination, but having Federal law enforcement standing.

"I'll get a license delivered to you in a couple of days. I suppose it would be best to have it dropped off here?"

Bucky nodded slowly, but Fury didn't make anything of Clint having taken Bucky under his wing.

"There may be back pay from the Army in your future, but you'll have to admit you're alive first, for that paperwork," he mentioned as he finished up the last bites on his plate as well as his glass. "If you want to join the class-action lawsuit being put together against the Hydra assets seized in forfeiture in the wake of DC, Barton knows how to get in touch."

It was only as Fury headed out saying, "Good eggs" as he shut and locked the door behind him, that Bucky realized how skillfully he'd been played. The talk about Pierce and the chair had been a distraction, the papers the redirect focus.

Distraction from what, however, Bucky had no idea.

************

Clint had a love-hate relationship with winter. The Iowa winters of his childhood had been brutal, especially once he and Barney had been in foster care, as had been the touring with Carson's. Winter coats and boots hadn't been cheap, but many foster parents had, and if Carson's had actually been a profitable circus, they would have wintered – or played – in the warmer, Southern states during the worst months instead of eking out an existence going from small town to small town throughout the snow covered plains.

The snow had been beautiful, however, and so quiet. It had also served as a kind of protector when Clint hid outside from his tormentors, as few of the bullies and jaded adults cared enough to follow him out into the snow.

Later, with SHIELD, Clint had had some of his best and worst missions during various winter months. He'd gotten hypothermia and pneumonia more than once from too many hours spent waiting on rooftops or from having to hide out in less than hospitable places with little sleep and less cover. Yet he and Phil had shared their first kiss during a winter storm in Edmonton, and he'd literally brought Natasha  _in from the cold_  during a bitter January spent chasing after her in Frankfurt. Even his first encounter with Bucky had been during a July in Johannesburg's, where it had been cold enough to snow but too dry. It had also been too cold to fuck, though that hadn't stopped them.

"What are you grinning about?" Bucky asked as they carefully made their way across the street that was rapidly icing over as the sun began to set.

"Johannesburg and how I was more worried about whether your arm might freeze up at an inopportune time, or even if my tongue might get stuck to it if I'd licked, than whether you were eventually going to kill me with it. It looked a lot more like a flagpole then than it does now."

"I only use my arm when I'm personally angry, or when I've been ordered to," Bucky told him in all seriousness. "I would have done you quick, most likely with a knife up through the ribs. A sniper of your caliber deserved an instant death, even if Hydra would have rewarded me for bringing you in instead, so they could wring you dry.  _They_  would have drawn it out for weeks."

"Says you," Clint objected. "Slow and lingering would have just given me more chances to kill my torturers and escape."

Bucky laughed and nudged Clint with his sleek, beautiful arm. "Yeah, you keep thinking that, cupcake."

"Fuck you, Buck," Clint shoved back, then went for broke and scooped up a handful of snow though he didn't follow through when Bucky looked like he'd retaliate by pushing Clint into the bank built up by the day's plows. "I once blinded a guy with fingernails I pulled off my own fingers. I am a master at escapes."

"Sounds like you're a master at getting caught, too. You should think about letting that skill go."

"You wouldn't step in and save me?" Clint asked in a disappointed tone, tossing the snow up before them to let it settle on their hair and shoulders that he might clutch at his chest as if wounded.

Bucky shook his head. "That's Steve's and my gig, though who saves who now seems to switch each time."

He sounded almost wistful, which led Clint to believe he was finally getting around the idea of contacting Steve, not that Clint was going to push. Although he was a little concerned about surviving two Thanksgiving dinners next week, given Tony didn't know the meaning of the word understated, and usually catered a shindig that could feed half of Manhattan, and that Bucky had thrown out the idea of cooking up a traditional meal for the two of them too.

"I'd rather shoot with you and make it so no one needs saving," Bucky then added and took hold of Clint's hand like he was concerned Clint might have taken his first answer badly.

"I'm all for that," Clint agreed, squeezing Bucky's hand in response before brushing their shoulders together. Bucky had yet to shy away when Clint treated his metal arm like a flesh one, though Clint knew Bucky actively tempered his own gestures and movements with it since it was so much stronger than the other.

Bucky flexed it enough that they could hear the plates shifting beneath his coat; an indulgence and Clint had better be careful lest Bucky think he had – or he actually developed – a fetish over it.

"So do you like this arm better?" he asked despite what he'd just decided.

Bucky shrugged. "This is the best one they've given me as far as articulation and sturdiness. I guess, yeah, if not for the weight, the color, and the need for it, I could almost forget  _who_  gave it me."

"Do you know, is it Destroyer technology?" The way the plates overlapped, it looked and acted a lot like that metal behemoth that had almost killed Phil.

At Bucky's blank look, Clint apologized.  "The Destroyer was an automaton from Asgard sent to kill Thor during SHIELD's first encounter with Thor's hammer. SHIELD reverse engineered what they could and got a cool phaser rifle out of it. Actually, I'm a little surprised Pierce stole the tech just for your arm instead of the gun. It's a fucking canon you can hold in two hands."

Bucky turned a smug look on Clint. "Hydra had me. They didn't need another super weapon. Hey, is that Simone's kids," he then said, drawing Clint's attention back to the neighborhood.

"Looks like mom had them doing a grocery run," Clint observed.  Dwayne was carrying two bags, while Kennin, being smaller and younger, carried one. Both of kids looked to be dragging, so Clint didn't protest when Bucky began speeding up so they could at least get the door to the building for them.

Bucky reached the bottom of the steps the same time Dwayne reached the landing. Kennin, like Clint, was a couple steps behind when the kid lost his footing on a patch of ice.  Kennin grabbed for his brother, but instead of righting himself he ended up pulling Dwayne off-balance too. Bucky took the steps two at a time, saying “I got you" so as not to scare the boys further. He grabbed for them both, only able to catch Dwayne as when he reached for Kennin, both of Kennin’s feet went out from under him like something out of a cartoon. Clint closed the gap and reached up in hopes of protecting Kennin from smacking the back of his head on the concrete although forty-five off balance pounds falling into his hands took Clint’s own balance from him. The two of them crashed against the steps and Clint felt the rib that caught the first step’s edge give, as did something in his wrist as it then banged against the next step up though it still cradled Kennin's head.

Clint couldn’t quite stifle his groan but Kennin's scared wail was louder, as was Dwayne’s concerned shout for his brother. He felt more than saw Bucky lift Kennin carefully from his arms, and by the time Bucky came back to help set him right, Clint had blinked back most of his tears.

“How bad?” Bucky asked, keeping his flesh arm on Clint’s elbow to keep him steady on his feet.

“Are the kids inside?” Clint figured that was answer enough.

Bucky did not disappoint. “Shit.”

“Yeah.  Broke the wrist and probably a rib. You willing to hang out in an emergency room and have crappy hospital cafeteria for dinner?”

“I’ll call a cab.”

***********

Bucky didn’t like the idea of owing Fury more than he already did (which is why he’d decided to give Steve the most credit for the pardon as he didn’t know Fury well enough to say he would have gone to the effort without being pushed by Captain America), but Clint’s DIA insurance had gotten a private area in the Emergency Room that had a separate waiting room which Bucky currently occupied alone. The doctors were still accessing the extent of the damage to Clint’s wrist and whether there were multiple fractures. 

Fortunately, it had been Clint’s right hand and side that had taken the impact since his left was his dominant. Since they’d gone shooting together a couple of times Bucky knew he could shoot with either, but Bucky wasn’t sure whether Clint could draw his bow with both. Bucky was glad the doctors were being so diligent regardless. He also suspected Clint’s broken rib would be the cause of more immediate pain and any ongoing discomfort; he was already envisioning how annoying Clint would become the longer he was grounded, but Bucky had survived Stevie’s chronic illnesses as they’d been growing up so he figured he’d manage to deal with a whiny Clint too.

When Bucky cared to look, it surprised him to see he’d been waiting over an hour. He wasn’t concerned that he’d only seen the nurse who’d shown him in, however he was becoming bored. As well as becoming tired of finding instances where being in thrall had had its advantages. He knew the ruminations and recriminations he too often felt would pass in time and as he got used to actually participating in his own life again; that he’d eventually feel more positive emotions than negative ones, but he also knew it would take more time to get back the sniper’s calm he’d once had.

It didn’t help that he’d started experiencing significant guilt for sometimes feeling happy, not to mention that sometimes his happiness came from not having to yet live up to Steve’s expectations. (At least he’d stopped sending Steve chasing after phantoms in other countries.) Bucky knew that Clint’s sense of guilt and discomfort was also growing the longer he kept Bucky secret, though Clint never complained nor had yet to push Bucky for a deadline.

Steve and Clint deserved better from him.

It wasn’t like Bucky hadn’t found his bearings either or like he still needed X and Z to happen and he’d consider himself recovered to impose his own deadline.  He was better than he’d been; had to hope he’d get better still, but time and distance from what had been done to him were the significant factors at this point. He couldn’t conceive of a way that Steve could mess up his recovery any longer, which told him he was just stalling.

He’d never considered himself a coward before. Thinking that now didn’t sit well.

Of course, just as he resolved to ask Clint to take him to the Tower once Clint felt better, the opportunity fell out of his hands. The door into the waiting room opened. The unmistakable voice of Tony Stark preceded the man’s entrance alongside Talia and Steve.

“—wouldn’t have to have Jarvis monitor hospital admissions if Birdbrain ever bothered to tell us when he – Urm. Ah – “

“Buck?”

Bucky swallowed his fear and found a smile. “Steve,” he greeted his oldest friend. “Talia. Stark.” He watched the suspicion chase over Steve and Stark’s face before their expressions cleared into something approaching neutral. Even so, they were both showing more than Talia.

“How are you here?” Steve managed to get out, too loyal even after DC to voice his fears.

“Long story for a better time,” not that there would ever be a good time, “but Clint and I worked together once years ago against someone both SHIELD and Hydra needed contained. So he’s been helping me deal with things as I’ve been recovering my memories.” Not the complete truth but one Bucky thought would hurt Steve the least.

“Clint is good with that," Talia said in support of Bucky’s claim, her tone reminding the other two she spoke from experience.

Bucky didn’t doubt she knew he’d omitted some things but he was grateful she wasn’t calling him on it. That she also let him see when she put the rest of it together (Clint had, after all, admitted he’d told her he was seeing someone), was likely more for Clint’s benefit than his, but again, he appreciated the gesture. 

“So you’re not the reason we’re here?" Stark asked bluntly.

“The reasons we’re here is because you don’t know the meaning of personal boundaries," Talia chastised Stark.

Huh. Maybe she held fewer hard feelings than Bucky had deserved.

“Couple of neighbor kids lost their footing climbing the stairs to Clint’s apartment building. He got between the younger boy and the concrete. He broke a rib and at least one bone in his right wrist. “

"Better that you're going to have to deal with him while he's healing then," Talia said with a smug grin from knowing full well that at least Stark would pick up on how she'd just outed his and Clint's relationship.

Okay, maybe she'd forgiven him for the fallout to both their lives in Odessa, but obviously she intended to get her pound of flesh for him shooting her a few months back.

Talia had always been the best, most skilled Black Widow he'd ever trained.

Stark, in fact, let an expression of unholy glee spread across his face before he sobered after a quick glance Steve’s direction and then an even harder look toward Bucky.

Clint had definitely told Stark the truth about Bucky killing Stark’s parents

“I’m sorry about your mother and Howard," Bucky told Stark although an apology could never be enough.

“Bucky, he knows it wasn’t – "

“Let him talk," Stark said harshly.

“I owed Howard my life for flying Steve to conduct his rescue mission. For him never giving up on Steve after the crash. If I’d had any awareness, or maybe if Howard had looked as he had when I knew him … I can’t say it would have made any difference since fighting against Ta – Natasha didn't despite the two of us having once been together, but truly, had I been in my right mind, I never could have killed him."

Nothing in Stark's expression yielded. "You also killed my mother."

Ah.

Bucky took a deep breath and then nodded. "Yes, I did. No one who ran me had any scruples about killing women or any sort of collateral damage. She wasn't though. I don't think. She was supposed to be a warning to you. I think they counted on you seeing through it being an accident; that you would rely on someone close to you that they could worked with on you."

That provoked a reaction and this time Stark took his own deep breath, his expression turning troubled.

"Howard had finally been successful in replicating Erskine's formula," Bucky continued, casting his mind back through a hodgepodge of memories. Maybe it was Stark's presence, since he did look quite a bit like a younger Howard, that helped solidify them in Bucky's mind. "He was transporting five samples that night and Hydra wanted –"

A new memory flashed through Bucky's mind, from a desperate time after than night.

"Steve, there are five more super soldiers!"

Even Talia couldn't hide her shock in hearing that.

"Are you sure – "

"Do you know where – "

"Can you identify them?"

Bucky answered Steve's question first, knowing that doing so would also answer Stark's, though probably not to Stark's satisfaction. "I don't remember where, not yet, but then I only just remembered they existed in the first place. I … I'll keep trying to remember more."

Steve's expression filled with distress but he nodded and let his confidence in Bucky, however misguided it might end up, show through. Stark simply looked like he'd expected such a useless answer, although at least he didn't turn away or leave the room in disgust.

"I can see them in my mind's eye. Four men and one woman," he answered Talia. "The process did not go smoothly for them. During one of the training sessions, they turned. I barely got the trainer out of the room. The other guards and watchers all died under their hands."

"There are not five more super soldiers in the world doing Hydra's bidding," Talia argued.

No, she was simply listing what she knew from either her time before or during her work with SHIELD.

"Nor for the KGB's, and not even Karpov would have managed to keep them under wraps for all these years. They must still be in cryo."

"I'll have Jarvis start compiling possibly locations," Stark spoke up. "You said the name Karpov?"

"Vasily Karpov," Bucky answered before Talia did. "Old Soviet General. He's dead, but his heir, Aleksander Lukin, was former KGB and now the man behind –"

"Kronos Corporation," Stark stated, obviously knowing of, if not knowing the man directly. "You're saying he's Hydra?"

Bucky shook his head. "Karpov worked with Hydra. He always kept himself valuable but apart from the organization. Lukin had even less love for Hydra, not that he doesn't have many of the same goals. He just doesn't want to have to share power."

Stark now looked more thoughtful than angry. "Someone needs to do a really long debrief with you," he suggested, while looking to Steve unsurprisingly.

"I think Fury has claimed that privilege," Bucky admitted. "He's been over a couple of times – "

"He knew you were in contact with Clint."

Now that was a tone that Steve had only brought out for the Brass who had still wanted him as a symbol instead of a soldier, even after he'd single-handedly rescued the 107th from Schmidt and Zola.

"You thought having died would have stopped Fury from lying once he came back?" Talia asked archly. 

Steve's expression turned rueful enough that he must have realized not just the truth in her words, but also some of the reasons she was amused instead of angry at least on Steve's behalf. Rueful enough, but some of his anger stayed. "I – "

"He didn't do it to hurt or lie to you, Steve," Bucky interrupted. "He did it for me. I wasn't ready. Truthfully, I'm not sure I'm ready now to be part of your – part of anyone's life. Not even Clint's, but he keeps making it difficult to run."

"If it helps, I'd really like you to stay, Bucky," Steve said in full earnestness. "But I won't make you. I still have my own problems with today's world, have days when I want to give up the shield, even not be Steve Rogers anymore. I … what you had to live through is so much more than me just waking up seventy years after everyone else. It's enough to know that you're you again, that you're not out there somewhere, lost and alone."

Bucky knew Steve meant every word of it; knew that Steve would always put Bucky's happiness before his own. But if knowing Bucky was no longer just the Winter Soldier was enough for Steve, then knowing that Steve  _would_  let him go now that he could truly make such a decision for himself should be enough for Bucky not to go. That and because Steve wasn't Bucky's only friend now.

"Are you going to be able to handle my being around, Stark?"

"I've handled worse people than you, Barnes," came the automatic response.

"Really?" Talia asked him.

Stark looked startled. He let her stare him down instead of playing it off or rebuffing her, however. Bucky could practically see his lightning mind reaching for all the hidden meanings behind that one word; did see him suddenly relax his shoulders and look almost contrite.

"Fine," he said to her, before he turned to Bucky. "You can come visit the Tower whenever you want, Barnes. Just come in with one of us the first time. I'll have Jarvis put you on the accepted list."

"You can call me Bucky if you'd like. Barnes is …" Bucky shrugged when he didn't have the words to say how far away he still felt from being Sergeant Barnes. The original Bucky was long gone too, of course, but he liked to think he was becoming someone that that Bucky might have become after the war. A little shell-shocked and wanting to put the experience behind him, but aware that such an experience had shaped him into someone who could survive the War.

Thanks to a brother like Steve, a friend like Talia, and a future with Clint.

– finis – 

 


End file.
